Unwilling Protector
by Freelance Fanfictioner
Summary: She broke all her vows and burned all the bridges - but when Goliath finds Demona hurt, helpless and alone, his sense of duty prevails and doesn't allow him to abandon her. Thus begins a journey at the end of which nothing will be the same.
1. Prologue: The Leader

It promised to be a night like any other for the gargoyle leader, apart from the briefing with Rody Daniels. Ever since the Manhattan clan began its official cooperation with the NYPD, his visits to the headquarters have become regular, if not frequent.

Detective Daniels, a brusque, broad-shouldered black man, was taller and wider than anyone in the department under his headship, but still he was a stripling compared to Goliath. He got up from his chair and shook hands with the gargoyle chieftain, then motioned Goliath to sit down, which he did gingerly, for the rickety office chairs were not made to support weight such as his.

"I suppose you will want to hear what we've been up to in the past month," said Goliath, but Rody, to his surprise, shook his head.

"Tonight we have a heavier chunk on our plate," he said, "in fact, we are working in cooperation with the Interpol."

"I'm afraid I am uninformed," said Goliath.

"Of course you are. I knew nothing myself until this morning. It appears that what we have on our hands is a route of world-wide illegal weapon trade, its source being Russia, from where the smuggling goes on via several borders, and one of the final targets, it appears, is here in Manhattan."

"Anyone we know involved?" asked the Leader.

"Actually, yes," said Daniels, extracting a photograph from a thick file on his table, "I personally have not come across this one in the time I've been head of department, but Elisa already told me about him today, and appeared most concerned about his resurfacing. He was believed to be dead, I understood. You have not talked with Elisa yet, have you?"

"No," said Goliath, "I came straight here after we woke."

"He looks…" Daniels shifted uncomfortably in his seat, "just – well, just like you."

"That would be because he is my clone," Goliath explained wearily.

"Your… clone?" Daniels looked stunned. "Elisa had not mentioned this. I believe the very act of creating him was illegal."

"I assure you my permission was not obtained."

"No, I should think not. So you are not surprise to hear that he is dabbling at illegal weapons?"

"Not in the slightest."

"There is someone else," said Daniels, pulling out a second photograph, "someone in the area who might be working with him, but we cannot be sure about her yet."

Goliath looked at the photograph. Well, he shouldn't be surprised about this either, he told himself as he observed the image of a certain azure, red-haired, slender gargoyle female.

"Do you know her as well?" prompted Rody when the silence lingered.

"We've met," replied Goliath, keeping his voice expressionless and his face blank. Just how well he knew her was completely irrelevant to the present case, and there would be no need to mention it.

"So, I thought you and your clan would be fittest to deal with those two. Elisa was actually a big enthusiast of the idea, you'll go over the details with her later. I mean, since you are of the same race, it will give you certain advantages. You can move in ways no human can, which can potentially be of tremendous value in tracking them… but of course," Rody noticed the uncertain expression on Goliath's face, "if you think you are not quite up to it, I…"

_Not quite up to it. Well, that's one way to put this. Heaven knows it is better if I never see her again. _But certain accounts were still kept open. Whether he felt angry or resigned, this was naught to the matter in question.

"Of course we'll do it," Goliath said abruptly.

… To start with, he discussed this only with his elderly mentor and his Second – the two who were already home when he returned. Their reaction was hardly unpredictable.

"Bloody hell," said Brooklyn. "So much for hoping Demona and Thailog are out of the picture. Illegal weapons… bloody buggering hell, can you imagine what a disaster – "

"Watch your mouth, lad," Hudson said sternly, "there was a breach between her and Thailog. Could it be she is working with him again?"

"If she is, she has learned nothing," Goliath replied darkly.

"And that shouldn't surprise us one bit, because she never learns anything," added Brooklyn, "I will step out, alright? Broadway, Lex and Angela should be back any moment, I'll tell them to go see you the moment they are here."

Goliath was left alone with his mentor, and by Hudson's unmoving silence, he knew the Elder was deep in thought.

"Do you disapprove of us being a part of this investigation?" asked Goliath.

"I am not sure," Hudson replied, "but Angela, she won't look kindly on us crossing paths with her mother in such a manner again."

"My daughter knows her duty."

"Certainly," sighed Hudson. "Lad, you are all grown now, and as great a leader as this clan ever had, but I remember you as an egg. _Her_ as well. It saddens me that a child of Wyvern should become an enemy and an outcast."

"That was her choice," Goliath said in the same blank, flat voice he used earlier.

"Perhaps if she was made to see the error of her ways…"

"I have tried to make her see the error of her ways more times than I care to count," said Goliath, and it was clear from his expression that as far as he was concerned, this discussion was at an end.

"So you would have us go through with this."

"They must be stopped."

Hudson fixed him with a beady stare. "You appear to be taking this to heart."

"It is a matter of grave importance."

"Because of Thailog?" asked the Elder. "Because of her? Or because of him and her, joining together?"

"I don't care three straws…" Goliath's teeth were clenched so hard it was a wonder his jaw didn't snap.

"Of course you don't," nodded Hudson sadly, "I am getting too old, and my tongue is growing far too loose. I shouldn't have…"

"No matter," Goliath said stiffly.

… He didn't think it prudent to continue lingering on this, and went to the library to pick up a book or a scroll and take his mind off certain things, but it was too late. The seed of a thought was planted, and unbidden, unwelcome, scenes of the past flooded him, overpowering his resistance.

It was a night when he was paired for patrol with the graceful blue-skinned lass who had by then already enchanted his soul. All his life he had known her, so there was no pinpointing the moment when he found himself irresistibly drawn to her. All he knew was that, although no word of understanding has yet passed between them, he felt that his whole future happiness, his life, his very being, depended on her.

They came across two men who were in all likelihood Viking scouts – the Scottish shores teemed with Viking longships in those turbulent years. It was her stealth that allowed them to surprise the invaders, but he fought them almost single-handedly, and was about to corner them, bind their hands with a length of spare rope and lead them back to the castle when he heard the unmistakable, deadly strum of an arrow. The moonlight wasn't very bright, but some men had night vision that wasn't bad at all, and they were often picked for archers. It was for his rookery sister that the arrow was meant, but he leapt forward with a roar of rage, and the arrow merely grazed his arm.

He stumbled and fell, and in the commotion, the raiders managed to scarper.

"_Fljótt__!" _He heard from a distance. He didn't understand the word, but that was Norse, and there was no mistaking the tone of urgency_. "__það gæti verið__meira af þeim__!"_

She helped him to his feet. That embarrassed him. It would have been more impressive if he was in a position to lift her in his arms and carry her to safety…

"Are you hurt?" she asked.

"A scratch." A painful scratch, but that was nothing. Luckily, the Vikings were not in habit of using poisoned arrows like certain Scottish clans.

"You fought very bravely," she said, evidently aware of how he felt about the outcome of the encounter. "You sent them running, and that arrow… you shielded me."

"I am Second," he said, "a time will come when I lead this clan. It is my duty to protect you."

She laughed softly, not unkindly. "You are being modest, brother."

"No," he stopped abruptly on the path back to the castle.

"What?" she didn't understand.

"I…" he struggled for breath and for words, "I would not have you call me brother – not anymore – you –"

They stood face-to-face on the narrow path, and he took hold of one of her hands and placed it on his bare chest, over his forcefully, loudly beating heart. "Have not you seen?" he asked, an almost desperate edge to his voice.

"I have seen a great many things lately," she said with a sly smile, "such as your outline behind those bushes by the forest stream where I come to bathe."

If he could blush, he would have, but he could not; his color darkened, though, and the heat coming from his face was almost palpable. A sudden thought fed his courage. "You… you still came," he said, "you came and lingered, even though you knew I was there…"

"No," she whispered, "no, _because_ I knew you were there."

All of a sudden, the world was spinning around him, and she was looking at him in a way he had scarcely dared to dream of. Her hand rose to touch his face, and came away sticky with blood.

"Your head!" she exclaimed. "Was there another arrow?"

"No, that was when I fell," he said, gingerly feeling his brow. The injury went hardly noticed until now. The gash didn't appear to be deep, yet quite a lot of blood was streaming from beneath his thicket of black hair and down his left cheek.

"We should still patch you up, at least until one of the healers can tend to you. You can't walk all the way back like this, and I don't want to risk gliding and becoming a target for more Viking arrows."

Without hesitation, she slipped out of her halter top, tore it into a long wide strap, and tied it around his brow with deft hands. He went, if possibly, even a deeper shade of purple.

"Your – your clothing… you shouldn't have…"

"No matter," she said lightly, "we'll go back to the castle, and I can cover myself up with my wings until one of my sisters lends me some spare garb."

She was in no hurry to cover herself up, though. She stood in front of him, almost unearthly in her beauty, and her eyes were like pools of liquid coal in the faint silvery glow of the crescent moon.

"Too shy to look when I know you're looking?" she teased. And then, almost without being aware of what he was doing, he took a step forward, and her smile disappeared, and the look on her face was solemn and earnest. Then, just like that, she was in his arms, and her lips were touching his, and all was sweet confusion.

Kissing was a human custom, but he was not at all slow to take to it, and her tongue was hot and moist as it slid between his lips to taste his mouth. His arms enveloped her, hers clung to him, and when his mouth became familiar she moved hers down to nibble at his ear and his neck, which sent a delightful shiver through him. They were both very young, both on fire, and every touch was an explosion of discovery.

"My brother," she panted, and the way she said it now, he didn't mind it so much anymore, "my sweet brother, you have seen all of me, but some things you failed to notice for too long."

She guided his hands to her breasts, and he felt her nipples stiffen the moment his fingers brushed across them. Her hand, meanwhile, found its way underneath his loincloth. Her touch, like his, was inexperienced and clumsy, yet its effect on him was immediate. It was a wonder he had found enough presence of mind to catch her wrist.

"Wait," he exhaled. She shot him a puzzled glance.

"Wait? What for? We nearly died tonight, unaware of what could have been. Death might be lurking close even now, and we need to seize the moment."

"Not… not like this," he said firmly but tenderly, "I… you are all I want in this world, but matches must be approved by the Leader. I am his Second, I cannot…"

"Surely you don't need anyone's approval to make me yours and give yourself to me?"

There was her brave, reckless spirit which he admired, sprinkled with arrogance and disdain for the law. Back then, he was not yet aware of how this combination might turn out lethal.

"I will speak to the Leader," he said, "This very night, if he will find time to hear me. I am sure he will approve, though perhaps he will say we are too young."

"I am not too young to know my own heart," she said in a quivering voice, her chest heaving with emotion.

He gathered her hands in his and squeezed them. "Will you take me, then? Will you take me for yours, and be mine, for now and all time?"

"Yes," she said, her eyes shining. "Yes and yes and yes."

_No_, Goliath told himself fiercely. No and no, he will not think about it any longer. The only thing that matters now is that he is going to find her and stop whatever she and Thailog may be up to. He will make her sorely regret ever associating with the likes of Thailog; for good and all, he will make her see that he was right and she was wrong all along. Once and for all, he will do justice.


	2. The outcast

She was annoyed, but not wholly surprised, to see him on her doorstep. She had thought he was gone for good before, but some way or other, he had always made his way back.

"You," she said with distaste.

"Me," he gave her what was evidently meant as an ingratiating smile, but came out as a leer. "I had hoped for warmer welcome, but I suppose lack of open hostility will have to do."

"I thought you had the sense to leave New York," she said.

"Oh, this city has gotten crowded, that's for sure, and I have bigger and better things in mind for my future. Soon, I will be gone and, I devoutly hope, forgotten... but before, there is a certain matter in which I hope to obtain your assistance."

"What kind of matter?" she asked grudgingly. She was not at all sure she wanted to know.

"I have established a certain route of… shall we say… _peculiar_ import," he said with a smirk.

She blinked. "You became a smuggler, is that what you mean? A petty smuggler?"

"Not petty, my dear. I have some very distinguished clients whom I supply diligently. My men buy weapons in Russia, take care to send them overseas, and my own clan brings them in through the Mexican border."

"And what's in it for you?" she asked with narrowed eyes.

"Just this," he rubbed thumb and forefinger together.

"Stop wasting my time, then," she turned back on him. "I have enough of _this_."

"Do you indeed?" he raised an eyebrow. "Even now that your little impresario cover is blown to smithereens? But it is not for the sake of money alone I thought you might like to participate. You like watching humans blow each other up, do you not? Well, all we would have to do is run a certain deal, and then you could sit back, relax and watch _quite_ an outstanding show take place in the New York subway."

"What do you mean?" she frowned.

"Why strain yourself and attempt to destroy the human race, when the humans are doing the job on their own, and with relish?" he paused. "Say yes, and we will embark on our splendid partnership once again."

She guessed she shouldn't be surprised. Thailog was a depraved creature, full of low cunning, selfish ambition and petty spite. Once, she had thought he might be the one to dispel her loneliness, but soon realized this was folly. He had Goliath's DNA, but in upbringing and character he was not truly one of her kind. He had no clan, no roots, no principles and no honor, and some of the allies he had recently made were even worse. Her skin crawled just with the thought of how dangerous some of them were. As for his so-called clan… those were genetically modified, biotechnologically enhanced creatures that resembled gargoyles no more than bats with an additional ounce or two of intelligence.

"I am not interested," she said flatly.

"I won't take no for an answer just like this," said Thailog, and his hand made a motion toward her face, but she recoiled.

"Do not ever presume to touch me," she snarled.

"Very well," he said silkily, lowering his hand, "but will you at least hear me out?"

"I thought I just did."

"Oh, no," he laughed, "I have merely hinted at possibilities. I want you to listen to the whole of my plan before you refuse."

"Spit it out, then," she said briskly, "I have no time to waste."

"Not now. I have client lists, maps, stock orders… I would show it all to you, to prove the sincerity of my intentions. I promise you, it will be mutually profitable, and the part you would have to play is really very straightforward. Do you promise you will at least consider?.."

"I make no promises," said Demona, "I think you are wrecking havoc with your own scheme by carrying it out in Manhattan. Have you forgotten that Goliath and his clan are now partnered with the whole of NYPD, not just that dunce Elisa Maza?"

"Oh, I should have known," he said pointedly, "you fear the consequences of getting on the wrong side of Goliath."

"I fear nothing," she hissed through gritted teeth, "you would do well to remember that, Thailog."

"I will," he said, "if you say you will meet me again. It does not mean you will have to agree to become my partner," he added, "but I want you at least to know what you are refusing."

"Fine," she snapped. She supposed no harm would be done if she gave him that. Besides, it would be interesting to learn what he was up to. "Where and when?"

"There is a safe place," he told her the whereabouts, and was already on his way to the door when he turned abruptly.

"Since we have already mentioned Goliath," he said in a soft, dangerous voice, "he _is_ turning into a serious nuisance, is he not?"

"More than usual, you mean? I would not know. I have no reason to run across him."

"Not since your little common adventure with the Hunters?"

"I _used_ him to promote my escape, you pinhead," she sneered, "serving comes to him as natural as breathing, after a lifetime of groveling before humans."

"Be that as it may, I do not intend to put up with him much longer," Thailog said with relish, "and neither should you."

Then he was finally out, and Demona was free to succumb to her own thoughts.

She said she'd meet him and go over the details of his plan, so she would do that, she supposed. But she did not have the slightest inclination to work alongside Thailog again. She was a fool to ever trust him. She was a fool to ever trust anyone. What's more, he still wanted her, it was plain to see, and while that sort of thing usually made males easy to manipulate, Thailog was a double-edged sword she no longer dared to wield.

Neither did she intend to stay in Manhattan. Her cover was blown, her enterprise destroyed, her remaining allies scattered, and her daughter would not speak to her again. She felt it was time to move on to… where? Well, she was sure she would be able to come up with something once she was on her way. The world was wide and held many possibilities.

Much as she was loath to admit it, she was tired. She was not, after all, invincible, and her long life pressed heavy upon her shoulders. That life would not be made easier by the death sown by Thailog's weapons. Neither would it sate her burning desire for revenge and justice. She doubted anything in the world could make her feel satisfied on that account.

She watched the sparkle of moonlight in the black amethyst on one of the fingers of her left hand. A magnificent stone it was, beautifully carved and wrought into a hoop of pale gold. Its magic far surpassed its beauty, though; obtaining it was the crown of her glory, and the effusion of sorcery poured into it the pride of her learning. It unnerved her to see how Thailog looked at that ring tonight. He did not know what it was, exactly, but he was not without suspicion either, she could see that.

It would be so easy to make the ring work its spell, find a safe refuge and sink into enchanted sleep – she could turn into stone for decades, for centuries, as she once had… and when she woke, the world – no, the world would not change, she knew that too well already. Neither would her enemies be gone. They were never gone, they only put on new faces.

No. Easy escape was not for her. She would continue her struggle, she would journey forward, and perhaps, from afar, she could hear news of her daughter.

There is one link still tying me to this world, she thought. One reason why I should still care.


	3. The detective

**A/N: I probably should have said this in the beginning, but there you go. With Gargoyles, the definition of canon can get slightly blurred around the edges. For me, the show is sealed and done at the episode "Hunter's Moon", the scene when Demona says "perhaps we aren't so different after all", and before Goliath and Elisa's sugary confession. I have allowed myself some slight AU bits and put in some minor OCs, but overall I tried to stay true to character and in reference to the plotline. **

Elisa looked in the mirror, her lips pursed critically. She wore her customary faded jeans, a plain black sweater and a denim jacket. She combed her lustrous black hair and pulled it back in a long ponytail. Then she paused, reconsidered and let it loose again, allowing it to fall to her shoulders in a shiny curtain.

Then she turned her back on the mirror, annoyed with herself. She was being silly. Goliath wasn't like that anyway; he didn't care what she wore or how she arranged her hair. Gargoyles didn't mind such things as much as humans. They have a way of seeing the truest nature, the essence of being. Especially Goliath.

That was one of the many things she loved about him. He, however… she sometimes wondered whether he noticed her at all. Oh, he appreciated her, no doubt, he valued her opinions, cared for her and got her out of some very tight corners. But was there more? Could there ever be more, or was she just imagining things, seeing clues through a distorted length of hope?

She never knew how and when it happened that he became more than a friend to her. Very soon after their acquaintance began, she grew to admire his bravery, his honesty, his sense of justice and his loyalty to his clan. But it was more of a surprise to discover that he was also kind; he had a good heart, and a gentler spirit than could be expected, judging from her looks.

Oh, she had never thought he was _ugly_, but he was… formidable. Enormous was the word that first came to her mind when she saw him. She did not expect she would so soon find a certain charm, a fierce beauty in the roughly hewn features of his face, his massive arms and shoulders, his magnificently muscled chest. Gargoyles, after all, weren't exactly pretty in human eyes. That left her wondering what humans looked like to gargoyles.

With a further stab of annoyance, she commanded herself to stop dawdling and get going. It would be sunset soon, and her investigation partners would be waking any moment. She had vital news to communicate, and they had a massacre to stop. She could almost hear the ticking of the clock they were racing against.

She arrived just in time to see their awakening. She had witnessed this hundreds of times by now, yet never tired of the spectacle of ear-splitting roars and shreds of stone skin flying in all directions. It made her feel as though she was in a medieval fairy tale, and the high walls and tall towers and turrets of Castle Wyvern helped uphold the impression.

There was nothing of a fairy tale about their mission, though. She proceeded to updating her friends with hardly as much as a "good evening."

"We have an informer," she announced, slightly breathless after climbing all those steps.

"Who?" Goliath asked brusquely.

"A man who worked for Thailog but, apparently, got cold feet and is vying for protection and full pardon in exchange for information."

"Pardon?" exclaimed Angela, disgusted. "And he is going to get it?"

"I don't like it any more than you do," sighed Elisa, "but it looks like he's going to be released on parole. And trust me," she pressed on, "one man's release will seem a trifle when you hear what he told."

"Nothing good, from knowing who we are dealing with," rasped Goliath.

"Just so," Elisa nodded, "It appears that the organization led by Thailog is selling explosives to the Al-Aksa Mujaheddin, and they are planning an attack on the New York subway shortly before Christmas."

A stunned silence followed her words. Someone's suppressed cough could be clearly heard.

"Oh, buggering hell," whispered Brooklyn, and this time, Hudson was too horrified to tell him to mind his tongue.

"Are you absolutely certain?" inquired the Leader. Elisa nodded.

"I'm afraid the evidence does not leave us a shred of doubt. And there is more," she said with a furtive glance at Goliath, "we have information that Thailog is promoting this plan by seeking Demona's assistance. He met with her recently."

"What did they speak about?" asked Broadway.

"We don't know exactly, but…"

"Then you have no proof she is involved," Angela said hotly.

Brooklyn shot her a glance that was almost pitying. "I'm sorry, Ange, but somehow it doesn't seem likely that Thailog only popped up to suggest they would get together over Christmas."

"It might not have meant anything," Angela insisted.

"We need no further evidence to know what Demona has become," declared Goliath, his face devoid of expression. "And unfortunately, this is something that would appeal to her worst nature. Elisa, is Thailog aware that someone is passing information on him?"

"No. All he knows is that one of his men quit the business and went underground. I doubt he fears anything from that quarter. We also know he intends to meet with Demona again soon, tomorrow night in all likelihood."

"Where?" Goliath demanded.

"This we don't know for sure. He has various safehouses…"

"I know several of them, I believe."

"Good. Groups will, of course, be placed near each possible location, but we are to take over the likeliest one. Now, if only we could figure out which one that would be…"

"I believe I can do that," said Goliath, "or at least, I can tell you where he passed most recently. We have a far keener sense of smell than humans. Brooklyn, Broadway, with me."

"Can't this wait? We haven't broken our fast yet," complained Broadway.

Goliath looked at him sternly. "Food will wait. This cannot. They must be stopped at all costs. I hardly dare to think how many innocent lives will be lost if we fail."

"Call me later to tell what you find out, will you?" asked Elisa, zipping up her jacket against the cold.

"You won't be staying until we return?" asked Goliath, and she was gratified to hear disappointment in his voice.

"No, I – I'm having dinner with my parents tonight. Call me or Rody at all hours, though. This is far too important to waste time."

"We will be seeing you the next night, then," said Goliath and took off, followed by Brooklyn and Broadway. He was soon lost between the dark outlines of the city buildings, but Elisa continued staring in the direction where he disappeared. Heavy of body as he was, Goliath looked graceful when he soared in the night skies, and she often wondered how it would feel to glide on the currents of wind alongside him.

"Won't you be late for your parents?" asked Angela.

"Yes," said Elisa, "I'd better get going."

She hoped they didn't notice her blush. She hated telling lies, but in this case, she feared, they simply wouldn't understand.

… Elisa stole a glance at her watch as her car stopped in the hospital parking lot. _Late again_. She hurried towards the entrance, hoping against hope she wasn't too late.

The polite clerk behind the reception table, however, confirmed her suspicions. "I'm afraid visiting hours are over, Miss."

"Can't you let me in, just this once? It was a long ride in this traffic, and I'll be quick –"

"I'm terribly sorry, but the doctors are making their evening rounds right now. You can come tomorrow, starting at ten in the morning."

Elisa shrugged, admitting defeat. "May I at least inquire after Mr. Jason Canmore?"

"Of course, detective Maza," she heard a voice behind her back, and turned abruptly.

Jason was standing in front of her, pale and thin and leaning heavily on a crutch, but beaming. A battered travel bag was slung across his shoulder. It looked nearly empty.

"I am pleased to inform you that the doctors judged Mr. Canmore's recovery so steady that he was released from hospital an hour ago," he said, blue eyes twinkling. "Mr. Canmore was told to return twice a week for physical therapy. He was also warned he will most likely have at least a slight limp as a permanent trace of his injury, but he is not apt to complain, as he knows it's a medical miracle he can stand upright at all."

"Jason!" Elisa walked towards him. "It's so good to see you up on your feet! I had not expected they would release you so soon. Do you need a ride?"

"It would seem so," he said with a wry smile, "it hardly looks as though I'm up to driving, does it?"

Elisa helped him into the car. The crutches rested at the back seat. "I have rented a little flat not far from the hospital," Jason told her and gave her the address. "It'll make getting to physical therapy easier. I also hired someone to help me around the house, until I can figure out how to manage on my own."

Elisa shifted uncomfortably in her seat. She had not planned on visiting with him in his apartment. She remembered only too well how quickly things began to get out of control the last time she was alone with Jason Canmore behind closed doors.

Stop it, she told herself strictly. He _is_ in need of a lift, he is recovering from a near-fatal injury, and he is all alone in the city. That was why you kept visiting him in the hospital, wasn't it?

Jason's apartment turned out to be furnished and reasonably clean. The housemaid had already come here today, he explained. The refrigerator was empty, though.

"A pity I didn't ask her to pick up some groceries as well," he lamented.

"Do you want me to call and order something in?" asked Elisa.

"Great idea," he brightened. "You'll be staying for dinner?"

"Uh…" she stammered. _Don't be rude. You only just dropped him off, you can't scarper right away. _"Sure. So… what would you like to have? Mexican? Chinese? Pizza?" a slight smile touched her lips. She could practically hear Broadway begging Goliath to stop for a pizza jalapeño on their way to Thailog's hideout.

"Anything you want is fine with me," he said. The phrase was simple, but his voice resonated. He could be quite a charmer, Elisa conceded. In other circumstances she would have admitted she is stepping into a dangerous zone.

She ordered Chinese. The chicken in sweet and sour sauce was good, but she was too uncomfortable to appreciate it. Jason looked at her as though he hardly noticed what he was eating, either. His eyes were devouring her.

"Who could have thought I'd be having dinner with the prettiest girl in New York within an hour of leaving the hospital?" he smiled. Those blue eyes of his were almost hypnotizing when he cared to make them so, but Elisa had no intention of playing this game. "We should have ordered some sake with dinner, don't you think?" _No. We shouldn't have. Add some alcohol to a tête-à-tête with you, and you've got the makings of things I'll sorely regret the next day. _

"Jason…" she took a deep breath. "I think we have been through this before. I am here as a friend. If you want any help, you need only to ask. But not… not anything more, do you understand? I don't want to lead you into false hopes. There is… someone else in my life."

"So I heard. But it isn't going anywhere with Mr. Someone Else, is it?" he said nonchalantly.

"Why would you think so?" Elisa bristled.

"It just figures," he shrugged.

_This is the last time you visit him here,_ she told herself. _Here's another one who doesn't care what you are wearing, but that's because all he thinks about is how to get you out of your clothes. If you continue playing Mother Theresa with him, you'll end up in trouble. He doesn't really need you. With his housemaid and phone orders, he should be fine._

"So… what will you do now that you're recovering, Jason?" she asked in order to break the pregnant silence. "Do you have any plans?"

"I'm going away to Scotland," he announced, and she felt a mix of disappointment and relief. Things would be far less complicated with him out of the picture. "Not for too long, though. I'll spend Christmas with my sister, who is staying at our aunt's. I'll be back in the first days of the new year."

"Well, I hope you have a good holiday," said Elisa. She could still hope some bonnie lass captures his heart and makes him stay behind.

"There is one thing, though," he went on thoughtfully. "I owe you more than words can say, Elisa. You were the one to make me see what a terrible mistake my whole life has been. God be praised, I woke up while it is still not too late to make a change. I want to live differently from my father, to nourish myself with love, not hate… I – I want to make peace with your friends, the gargoyles. Do you think they would believe me if I tell them I mean to bury the hatchet?"

"I… I can't be sure," said Elisa. _That's why I never told them I'm visiting you_. "I hope so. Goliath, the leader, he is good and just. If you are sincere, he will know."

"Good," nodded Jason, "then perhaps I will brave such a meeting. Not now, later. I'm feeling kind of vulnerable now that all I can do is throw a crutch at them."

"You needn't fear," said Elisa, "even if they don't trust you, they would never hurt you without very good reason."

"It seems I have already given them reason aplenty," he smiled. "But I see your point. Liz," he took hold of her hand before she had the chance to pull it back. "Tell me more about this… mystery man of yours."

"It's complicated," she said evasively.

"Isn't it always?" mused Jason. "But only because people make it so, I noticed. And if he is making things complicated for someone like you, he's an idiot."

"He's not…" Elisa struggled for words. "It's not… I'm afraid I can't tell you more." She pried her hand away from him.

"Don't feel as though you ought to," he said, "I'll just tell you this one thing, Liz. The day you tire of the complicated and want to seek out the simple, I'll be there. I have patience."


	4. The clone

With every beat of wings, Thailog thought, he is getting closer to triumph. Finally, he is going to prove to himself and the rest of the world that, though technically a copy of Goliath, he is infinitely superior in intelligence, skill, cunning and that prodigious ability to choose those who would be most useful to him and bribe or bully them to make them do his bidding. Loyalty was a nice thing in its way and he liked it as much as anyone, but he, unlike that great big oaf, was ready to take it with a grain of salt. Luckily for himself, he wasn't brought up during the Middle Ages, and wasn't stuck viewing the world as if the earth was still considered to be flat.

Of course, there were some things he had in common with Goliath. The genetic code they both shared had made it necessarily so. He, too, was stubborn, persistent in having his own way. He, too, was made of the stuff of leaders, although the wishy-washy protective nonsense was beneath him. He was strong, yes; not many would dare mess with you when they knew you could bend lamp posts and twist off heads bare-handed. However, unlike the brute Goliath, he had refined his technique of killing.

There was also the name. His name, which was Goliath in reverse, and which he resolved on changing as soon as he could come up with something suitable. He would no longer be defined by his prototype, for better or worse.

And there was something else. Her.

As soon as he first saw her, his blood was set on fire and he knew he must have her. Once he thought he was very near success, but she spurned him – on what grounds, he couldn't fathom. It was obvious they were perfect together; but no matter. It would all change now. She would have her eyes opened to reason.

She was a partner worthy of him. Fierce, strong, clever, and oh, so very beautiful. The alliance he was offering her was sweet in itself, but it was only a pretext. He was sure she saw his real meaning quite clearly. He was also sure she knew what was good for her.

If she accepts his offer, tonight they will start a new life together. If she accepts his offer, they will soon be shot of Goliath. Before long, she will learn from him and he from her, and they will be sharing the glories of wealth, power, magic, and infinite life. If she refuses, however… but no. She wouldn't be that stupid. If only she isn't blind, she must see she needs him.

She made a few steps forward. The silence was deep and dark, but she could smell him in the shadows.

"I am here," she said. He stepped towards her, lighting a stub of a candle which he placed on one of the rickety surfaces.

"I am glad you came. I knew you would."

"What a miserable hovel," she wrinkled her nose and looked around.

"It isn't very pretty, I'll grant you that, but it's inconspicuous, and that's what matters."

"Right. Well, here I am, Thailog, so hurry up with whatever it is you wanted to tell me. Mind you, I don't promise to show any great interest."

"Oh, you will," he assured her, "but before we discuss the details related to my – ah – corporation, there is something else we must speak about."

"Which would be?"

"Goliath. My prim-and-proper prototype is becoming too bothersome by far to continue putting up with. The police has put him on my tail – and yours."

"What?" Demona burst out indignantly. "I did nothing for them to start hunting me down again. I have not given my consent to work with you in this. I don't even know, exactly, what it is that you are doing."

"That's so, but apparently, they have discovered that we met recently, and your record, my darling, isn't exactly pristine."

"Do you realize this means there is someone around you whom you can't trust?" she asked sharply.

"There is no one around me whom I can trust," he retorted, "but what matters right now is, Goliath is after us with most inconvenient zeal, together with his clan and his devoted human sidekick Elisa Maza, and this can mess up everything."

"So what would you do?"

"I am tired of Goliath, I confess. I want him out of the way, this time forever."

"Do you intend to gather your clan and challenge Goliath?" Demona asked ironically. "If so, don't expect me to shed tears over your dead body."

He smiled – a cold smile that only briefly touched his lips. "Dear me, no. Why make a bloody botch of this, when the same result can be achieved so quickly and easily? And here is where you come into the picture."

"I don't understand."

"You will in a moment. You can turn into a human at sunrise, can you not? You know their bloody castle, too. It would be so very _easy_ for you to creep there one fine morning with a nice big hammer in your hand, and rid us both of a tremendous nuisance."

Demona froze. Her eyes have gone wide. "I…"

"You could spare your daughter, I don't think she'd pose that much of a threat on her own," allowed Thailog, "you can keep her with you or send her back where she came from, it's naught to me."

Suddenly, her mind flashed backwards, to a night when she battled by the side of Macbeth's army beneath a clear, high moon. Back then, it seemed that the very stars had turned bloody. Some of the English had never seen a gargoyle, and one man had fallen off his horse in horror. The stallion neighed, reared and cantered away.

"Mercy," he croaked, sword dropping from his hand, his eyes widened in shock. "Mercy, mercy, Gawd have mercy…"

"Your God has no mercy, human," she sneered coldly, "and neither do I."

It was that very night that Macbeth had given her the name under which she became renowned.

"I cannot do this," her voice echoed strangely in the confined space. It sounded almost as though her throat was constricted.

"But why?" he raised an eyebrow. "You have tried to finish Goliath off time and time again. And noble efforts they were, too," he gave her a mock bow, "but somehow, it was never enough. Or perhaps your heart wasn't in it after all?"

"That was in open battle," snapped Demona, sounding confident again.

"And there was your mistake. Enemies are safer and easier disposed of when approached unawares."

It was not for him to teach her lessons. She knew it well, but… "What you are suggesting, it… it was what the humans did to _my_ clan, all those years ago."

"But this is touching. I never expected you to be so sentimental," he said with a hint of annoyance.

"I have pledged my life to avenge my brothers and sisters who died at the hands of the Vikings, shattered into rubble as they slept," Demona said fiercely, "and now you would have me take up a hammer and service my own kind in the same way?"

"So you will not do it?" Thailog asked matter-of-factly, and the temperature in the lopsided building might have dropped several degrees.

"No," she said, "I will not. And I think I've changed your mind about hearing you out, too. You aren't worth the risk. I will walk away now, and I sincerely hope never to see your face again."

She turned his back on him, but he caught her arm and spun her around roughly, so that she was facing him again.

"I told you never to touch me," she snarled.

The corners of Thailog's mouth lifted ever so slightly. "Wrong answer, bitch," he said, raising his fist.

**I can't omit mentioning the godawesome band Within Temptation, to whose songs I've been listening for inspiration while I wrote. If you know WT, you know much of their music goes amazingly well with Demona; if you don't, give it a try! Some of the songs I especially felt were a soundtrack for this novel: The Truth Beneath the Rose, A Dangerous Mind, The Swan Song, Say My Name, Hand of Sorrow, Pale, What Have You Done, A Demon's Fate.**


	5. The trap

**"We'll get them"**

Finally, it was night.

It has to be tonight, he thought. They are masters of arms, fighters of glory, heroes of darkness. Can it be that those two will continue evading them?

He looked at his hands. Strong, skilled, callused hands. Not a lad's hands – those heavy palms, those steely fingers belong to an experienced warrior. A gun was placed at his belt, but all he could imagine were these powerful hands of his, in a steely lock around their necks. He imagined a slender wrist wriggling in the prison of his locked palm, a leg kicking at his torso with brutal force. But he was ready tonight, his brain and his muscles and his reflexes. He, with his faithful companions. He clenched and unclenched his fists, shook the mane of long, black, wild hair, banded carelessly with a bit of spare rope. This was going to be a battle, and a warrior's hair was supposed to be braided.

Quiet steps behind him. A female figure, a youth on the verge of blooming – thin arms and legs, beautifully shaped slender hips, delicate features. Hair just like his, long and thick and black, pulled back neatly into a knot. His eyes, his glance.

"Daughter." He turned to face her. "We'll be leaving in a few minutes. Braid my hair."

She gave him a glance that was both stern and fearful.

"We're not at war, father." She said. "It will be just a short operation."

"Let's hope so." He nodded. His features were always severe, with his prominent chin and square jaw, but at that moment he looked as though his face was curved out of stone.

"What are we going to do, my father?" She asked timidly, after a moment of hesitation.

"Get our hands on them. Put them under arrest. What else?"

"We have no proof."

"We will get proof. Their gathering tonight will be the proof. What more do we need?"

"Perhaps we should…"

"We shouldn't." He towered over his daughter, a huge beast, a fearsome authority. "Get ready or stay here."

"Yes, father." There was a tinge of sadness in her voice. "Yes, my leader."

They made their way quickly and silently, and no passerby saw their shadows across the winter sky. Soon, they reached their destination – which was, indeed, no more than an old barrack of grey boards, with broken windows and a lopsided door. The night was dark and damp, and the moon was like an old gold coin shining through mist in the cold velvet sky.

He sat very still, concealed by a pile of old garbage, together with his partner, a young boy only two months in the department. The others took different positions, so that the barrack was viewed from all angles.

They were sitting like this, in complete silence, for about an hour when he stirred for the first time. Their place was cold and uncomfortable, and the stink of garbage was getting strongly into his nostrils, but this was not the reason of his restlessness.

"I hear no voices." He said in a hoarse whisper. "And no one is coming. We should have come earlier."

His partner shook his head.

"We couldn't risk running into them on our way here. We had to come when we think they must already be here."

"I hear no voices. Could it be that we came too late?"

"I don't think so. They must have a lot to plan, and they are careful not to make noise. I'd worry more about not seeing any lights, but your kind can do without. We just have to wait, and we'll get them on their way out."

"If they are not here anymore," The giant crashed a twig between his fingers. "We must know it, so we can get back on their track. I have an idea or two on where they might be planning to go, but it will only be useful if we get going soon."

He said his last words already standing up.

"We can't… no way… this is not what we planned." The young man whispered nervously.

"You will stay here, Matthew."

"You can't go there on your own. It's most unwise. Let's get a message to the others."

"No one else will move. All positions must be covered."

"You can't…"

"Silence, Matthew. I'm afraid I'm right, and we will find nobody there. If you hear suspicious noises, send a message to the others and proceed."

And so he started walking, very quietly, very smoothly for such a huge beast, not seen by any of the others. He approached the old, half-ruined barrack and felt the door handle. He pulled easily, and the door opened like a wide, black mouth. It was quiet and cold and dark.

"We were too late", he thought, discouraged. Nevertheless, he flexed his talons and stepped in.

The first thing he felt was a strong smell of mold and mud. It was cold and quiet, like in a coffin. A human would say it was completely dark, but for his eyes, it was enough to have a few thin straps of moonlight falling through cracks in the walls and roof. A human would say the barrack was empty, but he could smell terror, and wickedness, and pain. He took two steps – two steady, heavy steps - then froze.

Someone was laying face down, limbs spread across the dirty earth floor, not moving, hardly breathing.

She was not dead. The terror he sensed came from her, and it was alive and throbbing. When she heard him approach, she pulled her knees closer to her chest, curled up, trying to press even closer to the cold, damp earth.

"Came to finish me off?" He heard half a whisper, half a moan. This could be a trap, he thought. He inhaled a deep breath of air through his nostrils, but couldn't smell anyone else. Nobody else was there. Someone's brutal smell was getting colder, fainter, and weaker. He couldn't move.

Then slowly, very slowly she lifted her head, and with effort, raised her gaze. The sight of her face was anything but pretty. Her hair was messed and muddy, and fell into her eyes; her face was covered with bloody bruises. One of her eyes was swollen; she had a broken, bleeding lip, and a ghostly paleness was spread over her features.

"_You?" _She gasped, her breath weak and shallow. Then, it seemed, her last bit of strength left her, and she lowered her face.

The giant approached.

"Can you get up?" His voice was a low rumble.

"Go away." She shook her bent head. "Kill me now or go away. Wasn't this what you wanted?"

He bent over and got hold of her shoulders. He held not painfully, but with force; lifted her and made her sit up. She winced. The rest of her looked as bad as her face. It looked as though a fierce beast caught her; she was covered with blood and ugly bites. Her clothes were torn to pieces, her breasts half-bare. Blood was trickling down her bruised thighs, as if someone's talons tore through flesh as her legs were pushed apart.

"Don't touch me." She gasped with pain. "My ribs. My wing…"

Something clenched his stomach. She smelled of fear and weakness, like a hunted animal that had already fallen and expects death. He was a hunter, he knew. He took hold of her chin, lifted it up, and studied her unrecognizable face for a few moments. Her eyes were downcast, unable to meet his.

"He was here before, wasn't he?"

"He was. Not anymore. Don't… don't make me beg for the stroke of mercy. It should be given willingly to those who seek it."

For a moment, just a flickering moment, he caught her gaze.

"He was here, and he had his way with you." He said, surprised at how hoarse and quiet his voice sounded. "Didn't he? _Didn't he?"_

Softly, very softly, she collapsed without saying another word. He stared at her for a moment and another, then threw her unconscious body over one shoulder and walked out.

After all, he got her.


	6. Shelter for the enemy

**Shelter for the enemy**

The walk out of the barrack and into the moonlight, to a spot where he could be seen by the others, was short but seemed to take ages. With every step, his legs felt more and more like lead, her body heavy and cold and almost naked against his shoulder. He was glad she passed out. He was even gladder when the others started approaching and he could slowly put her down and straighten his back.

"What happened?" His daughter gasped in anguish, shuddering. "Look at her!"

"I thought you were going to arrest her," the Second pointed out. "Not beat her to pulp."

"Don't be ridiculous, he only went in there for a minute or so." Matt snapped. "He couldn't possibly have time… _could_ you?"

"It was the other one." He replied, every word as heavy as a ten-pound stone. "He's gone."

"Where's Mary?" Someone called, but Mary Ryan, the nurse, was already approaching. She bent over the limp body and started feeling and looking and clucking her tongue.

"Hit in the head pretty hard, two broken ribs, a broken wing, covered with bruises but that's less serious…"

Then she had one look at her bloody thighs, and crossed glances with the Leader. His face was smooth, not a muscle moved, but that one-second glance told her all she needed to know.

"We'll need a DNA sample. And she has to be treated. I can do this, but I do not advise taking her to a hospital. It would cause havoc."

"She has no home." said the Leader's daughter, tears already swelling in her merciful eyes. "It would be best if we took her with us. We can do that. We'll do that, won't we, father?"

For a long moment, he stared at his daughter. Then, he nodded with the slightest inclination of his magnificent head.

"I suppose we must." He said. "She has to be interrogated. Follow me, everybody."

Saying this, he heaved her onto his shoulder once again and set off into the night sky.

The way seemed long like never before. He went fast, so fast, as if he wanted to escape from the weight on his shoulder. He kept beating his wings against the cold night air, and the others could barely follow, even though they had no weight to burden them. Matt, Mary and Liz followed in the car below. It's hard to say what kind of shortcuts they had to make, but all of them reached the castle more or less at the same time.

There were some bits of furniture in front of the empty and cold hearth in the common room: sofas and armchairs, a low table and book cases, rugs and tapestries. That was good and sturdy furniture, but it looked grim and dark with no fire in the hearth to cast warm flickering light.

The witch, still apparently unconscious, her head bent, was sitting weakly on the sofa, a quilt over her shoulders, supported from both sides by the nurse and the Leader's daughter.

Mary gave him a careful glance.

"I think we should take her to a room with more privacy." She said. "We'll treat those wounds and take samples… and perhaps some tea or wine could help her regain her senses."

"Do it." He nodded. "Treat her. Bathe her. Clothe her."

With this, he turned and walked away, and no one dared to follow him.

A short time later, though, Liz found him in the secluded spot in between one of the castle staircases, where he was standing alone and staring blankly into space, apparently forgetful of where he is. When he saw her, though, he snapped out of his reverie and turned to face her. He knew there was something she wanted to say, and he waited.

"Goliath," she began, cautiously choosing her words, "you _are_ sure you did the right thing, aren't you?"

"What do you mean?"

"Bringing her here. I just... well... it couldn't be a – a trick, could it?"

For some moments, he was silent, considering his answer. "Tricks, traps, lies... that is what she is made of," he finally said, "but even so, what would you have me do? Leave her there?"

"No," whispered Liz, biting her lips, "no, I suppose you could never... not even your worst enemy... even though..."

Despite himself, Goliath flinched. His worst enemy. Cruel words, but fitting.

"Even though what?" he prompted, aware that there is more.

"That is what she would have done to you," Liz finished breathlessly, "that, or worse."

He frowned. "Surely you don't think I would stoop that low?"

"No," she said gently, "it's only that... I know she looks weak and broken, but Goliath, I still have a feeling we ought to go careful around her."

… And so Mary and Angela took care of her. They carefully took off the remnants of her bloody clothes (Mary shuddered when she noticed her leather belt was torn as well) and Mary took the samples and gave them to Matt, to send to a laboratory. He ran off. Meanwhile, the Leader's daughter filled a bathtub with steaming hot water and they bathed her carefully; Mary supported her head above the water and the young one gently treated her cuts and bruises with a sponge and washed the mud and blood out of her fiery hair. Her eyes were closed, all the color was gone from her face, and she remained pale despite the cup of hot spiced wine that was brought to her.

Later they helped her climb out of the tub, Angela wiped her dry and Mary bandaged her wounds and broken wing, and they covered her with Angela's robes. They gave her the longest, warmest winter robes, but she continued to shiver, even though the small room was filled with steam from the bath. She didn't say a word all the while, and when Angela led her to one of the little, seldom used guest bedrooms, where clean linen was already waiting for her, her eyes remained closed, as if she was afraid to open them and see again that narrow barrack and smell violence and fear.

Closer to sunrise, Matt returned, whispered something to Mary and handed her the results. She nodded gravely, took them and went off.

She found the Leader on the wide balcony, staring at the graying sky, still and silent as a stone statue. When she approached, he looked at her and they both knew, but she still had to say it.

"You were right." She said. He inclined his head so very slightly, not a muscle moving in his face. "It was him. What he did was horrible. He's a beast, Goliath."

He just stared. Calmly, it seemed. Mary never learned to read the expressions of this severe face.

"Do you think she knows where he might be?" She asked.

"If she knew before, and I doubt it, she doesn't know now. You don't know what it is for our kind, Mary."

"I know it's a terrible, terrible thing," she said. As a nurse in the NY Department of Criminal Medicine, she often worked with victims of the most horrendous abuse, but for some reason, she felt almost defensive here. "Some can't stop crying. Some are catatonic and silent, like she is right now…"

"We are the free folk," he said. "In other clans, this might mean that the strongest has his way with the weaker, but in Wyvern clan, no wife was ever taken by force. Not in my time. Not in our old Leader's time. And if it happened, the offender would be exiled. Or executed."

He said the last word almost off-handedly.

"Well, he is not from your clan," said Mary. "But we need to get hold of him anyway. Arrest him. Even disregarding what he did tonight, he has earned a lifetime of prison."

She quickly looked at Goliath. It seemed to her that he made a strange sound, something between a snort and a growl. But the features of his roughly carved face were as unmovable as ever, and she thought she must have misheard.

"She used to be in my clan, but she tried to kill me before. Take my place. Ruin me. She hasn't been among us for years and years. She cursed me and mocked and rejected this clan…"

"Yet the bond of blood cannot be broken even if hatred rules the hearts," she heard another voice approaching, the low, hoarse, yet strangely always cheerful voice of the old Leader, the honored and respected Father of the clan.

She felt like shrugging. She will never understand them.

"Isn't she under arrest now?"

"To put her under arrest, we need proof. And without finding him, we can have no proof," said Goliath. "But I will find him."

Mary started at his taloned fist. She saw it clench several times before, but its enormousness never ceased to amaze her. And his tail never swished like that.

"Our law says that when this sort of offense is made, and the lass cannot avenge herself, this task falls upon the shoulders of the Leader." continued the father sagely.

"She has no leader anymore." Goliath said, raising his stony fist just one inch.

"You are wrong about this, Goliath," the elder said. "She rejected her duty of following, but your leadership remains intact."

Mary would cover her ears with her hands and hum if she could. This went beyond her duty. Way beyond her duty.

"My leadership holds no more than a wisp of smoke in her eyes."

"The problem," continued the older male, oblivious to Mary's presence, "is that you were always too soft with her."

Mary choked on the laughter that involuntarily came up in her throat. Whatever could be said about the dangerous, enormous, imposing leader of this clan, 'soft' was the last word she would have used.

"I could never bend her to our ways," the Leader said, very somber, "the only one who could ever do something about her willfulness was Korian, and he is gone right now."

"Why be Leader then? No, leave that – why take her for a wife?"

Mary clasped her hands to her mouth.

"Don't tell me – I had no idea – she is your _wife?"_

"Indeed, lass," answered the elder, "she is his wife. Or was."

"Angela's mother?"

"That's right."

"It doesn't matter anymore." Goliath said, looking above her head. "We haven't been together for years and years. But I will do what needs to be done."

He walked away, a swish of wing and tail.

"Doesn't matter anymore…" muttered the older male, "whom is he trying to fool?"

"Are they div…" started Mary, and stopped, realizing how stupid she must sound. "Sep... I mean –"

In all the time she knew them, she never stopped to think that Angela must have a mother – that if her mother is alive, she must be out there somewhere. She thought of the miserable creature they bathed and patched up before, the one with brokenness in her hollow, terrified, haunted eyes. What was she like before?

"We do not cancel unions as easily as humans do," said the elder, "this one remains as valid as ever. It doesn't matter how they feel. She is his wife and blood of his blood. He must protect her and kill her attacker."

Mary felt goosebumps springing up her arms, and a chill running down her spine.

"Kill him? I thought we were talking about arresting him…"

"If you get your hands on him first, you will arrest him," said the elder, "but rest assured, lassie, if Goliath finds him he will tear him limb from limb."

"Don't get me wrong," she amended, "the scum can die as far as I care. He deserves nothing better. But he's a dangerous criminal, and he's in possession of valuable information. He must first be captured and interrogated."

"But as soon as he's in your cells," said the elder, "no one will allow Goliath to have his revenge. Right?"

"_His_ revenge?" Mary cocked an eyebrow, "I thought he said he's only doing what needs to be done, or whatever you believe it must be?"

The next night, he approached Mary and Angela after everybody broke their fast. It was a silent, somber meal, during which nobody said much. The witch remained in her room.

"Has anybody taken her supper up to her?" He surprised them with a question.

"She has eaten," said Mary, "not much, though. But at least she isn't refusing food. I was afraid she would. I don't think we should offer her any more wine, though. I don't know how it affects your kind but it seems it has made her a little dizzy."

In reality, they took up a platter of bread and olives, roast meat and fruit, boiled eggs and butter and honey. She only ate half a boiled egg and nibbled some bread and olives, but took a more than generous portion of spiced honeyed wine.

"Good," he nodded, "I'm going up to her, then."

"Wait, are you going to question her?" Liz asked eagerly, "I'm coming with you."

"Questioning her is your job," he answered in a low rumble, "I have no questions for her. I do have a few things to say, though."

She was sitting on the bed and staring out of the window when he entered. She was less pallid than the night before, and some of her bruises were beginning to visibly fade, but the look on her face was deathly.

"Came to gloat?" Those were her words of welcome.

"You shouldn't drink anymore," he said, recognizing the patches of color in her cheeks, "only humans do that to numb their pain. Surely you wouldn't adopt their ways?"

An unrecognizable sound, something between a hiss and a growl, was her answer.

"You brought me here." She said after a pause. "As a prisoner?"

"Feel free to go, you fool," he rumbled, "but he's still out there. Next time he sees you, he will kill you, and you are in no fit state to fight. I'm not even sure why he left you alive. Perhaps he thought you would die anyway."

Or perhaps, he silently thought to himself, he knew that what he did to you was worse than death.

"I would have died," she said, "I didn't plan on anything else. He defiled me. I am full of muck and rot. You did me a disservice by bringing me here, Goliath."

"I didn't know you were such a coward," he said cruelly. His words stung. Her eyes flashed red, and in a swift movement she raised her hand, aiming to slap him. He was quicker, however, and caught hold of her wrist before her open palm could make contact with his skin.

"No," he said firmly, "I am not taking any more of this from you."

"Don't you dare..." she began, her face contorted with powerless anger.

"If there is one thing that has always characterized you," he went on, "it is that you never gave up. For better or worse, you never admitted defeat."

She looked at him very strangely.

"Yes, I have," she said in a blank voice, and looked away.

For a pregnant second, both were silent.

"Whether you are dead or alive," he finally said, "what he did to you merits _his_ death. Someone must get rid of him. That is the law. You know it."

She laughed; a hollow laugh, a shadow of her former confident cackle.

"The law? I have no law but my own."

"You don't," he said, "but I do. By the law you threw away, I happen to be your leader."

None of them mentioned that by the same law, he also happens to be her husband. She just gave him a sharp, calculating look, appraising those roughly hewn, savagely handsome features of the one who was bonded to her for a lifetime so many years ago.

"Are you going to kill him?" She finally asked. "Is that what you mean?"

"Do I have to put things plainer?"

"But why?" She pressed.

"Because it must be done. I have no choice. That is our law. It doesn't matter what you did. Right now, it only matters what you are."

Avoiding further inquiries, he bent to kindle the fire. She wondered how he guessed she was cold. It was a mild night but she was shivering from head to toe. Perhaps it was the fact that she had eaten so little in the past two nights. Or perhaps it was that this was the first conversation she had with him in recent years that didn't involve trying to cause him severe bodily harm, whether with her teeth and talons or by elaborate modern weapons of destruction.

It only matters what you are, he said. But what was she? She lost her clan, her husband, her child, the very axis around which her world should have spun. What was left to her now? Her spell work and her desire for destruction. And on that night in the dirty barrack, both were taken away from her.

"My ring," she remembered, "he took my ring."

The Leader looked at her, scrutinizing. "You look ill," he said slowly.

She let out a short, bitter, derisive laugh. "Indeed? And here I am, thinking I have never looked better."

"You know what I mean. It is your ring of power and immortality, isn't it? So..."

"So?"

"Is its magic broken now?"

"Yes."

"Does this mean..." he paused, "does this mean you will die?"

"Yes," she said indifferently, "and to be frank, the thought brings relief."

He froze in place, an unknown something constricting his chest.

"Not quite yet, though," she added, "I believe I still have a couple of centuries left to me, like the rest of you."

"Why, then..?" asked the Leader, regaining his senses.

She didn't reply, just looked at him with hollow eyes. He didn't press further.

"The ring - does he know how to use it?" He asked.

"Not yet," she said hesitantly. "But I daresay he will figure out soon enough."

The Leader clenched his enormous fist. "I won't allow him the time," he said.

Later at night, Mary showed up after knocking on her door and receiving no reply. She didn't even have enough strength to bare her teeth at the human.

Mary bore a tray carrying a bowl of blackberries and another bowl of thick cream. The witch looked at the tray, startled. Berries and cream were always about the only foods she could keep down at times of injury or sickness. _He _used to steal into the castle creameries to bring it to her. Only he could have ordered this tray up tonight. This, if nothing else, proved to her beyond a shadow of a doubt that he wants her alive. But why? What a hindrance his excessive sense of duty must be. True, she always knew Goliath was soft-hearted. In past times, when the two of them hunted together, she always had to be the one to finish off a fallen stag. Goliath always had a weakness come over him when he saw the dying beast's tortured eyes.

Last night, she supposed, she had been the stag.

She hated that thought.

She picked up her spoon and began to eat.

She thought Mary would leave then, but instead she remained sitting, intently watching her.

"I know how you feel," the chubby woman eventually offered.

This time, the witch managed a snarl, albeit a weak one. Just two nights ago, one movement of her hand would have been enough to snap the human's neck. Now, though, all she found the strength to do was glare.

"You think so, human?" She said mockingly.

Mary studied her for a few seconds before speaking:

"I was gang raped when I was fifteen," she said simply. That was twelve years ago, beginning a torture of her soul from which it took her nearly a decade to emerge. She had told this to few people.

To this, the witch had no reply.

"This was why I ended up working with NYPD, I guess,"said Mary.

For a few more seconds, both were silent.

"Were you a virgin?" The witch eventually asked.

"Yes," said Mary, "I was."

"So was I," said the witch.

Mary gave her a quick sideways glance.

"You mean… but… you have a daughter," she pointed out.

"Yes," the witch said bitterly, "but our powers of regeneration are not like those feeble tweaks you humans have. When we don't – don't use that body part, the maidenhood grows back intact again."

Despite the circumstances, Mary fought the urge to smile.

"We only have jokes about how it grows back from lack of use," she told. A low hiss was all she got for an answer.

"There had never been anyone but Goliath."

To this, Mary had no reply. To herself, she noted the wretchedness of the creature. She thought she was beginning to understand something. But what should she say? "I'm sorry" sounded terribly feeble. Just as she was contemplating it, the witch turned sharply toward her and her eyes glowed red. Mary shuddered.

"If you breathe one word of what I just said to anyone," the witch said in a menacing growl, "I swear, I will use what's left of my strength to rip your tongue out, human."

After the human left, she sat motionless for a long time, staring out of the window at the dark shapes of the clouds obscuring the moon. Yes, she was a virgin last night, as if in mockery of that first night she and her beloved shared so many years ago.

Years prior to that, when he was but a lad and she just came to love him, she could hardly move or speak in his presence. He was so tall and strong and handsome, and the low rumble of his voice sent shivers down her spine. She revered him and grew desperate, thinking he would never feel the same way about her - until one night, she noticed a glance that made her heart rejoice. Ever since, she was determined to make him court her, and soon succeeded.

She remembered the first time she buried her fingers in his long, dark, thick mane of hair. "Your hair is longer than mine," she told him then with a mischievous grin, "you ought to braid it so it won't get in the way when you are training or fighting." It was then that she braided his hair for the first time. She relished the job, even though it took her a while to comb out all the tangles.

There is still no strand of grey in his hair, a thought struck her, and it's still as thick as it used to be, but no one braids it for him now.

There was this one time on a hot summer night when she deepened into the forest to bathe in a stream, and noticed his outline behind the surrounding bushes. Her heart raced wildly while she speculated whether he would dare to reveal himself, and what on earth she would do if he did. They were both just youths, completely inexperienced, and she felt her limbs lock under the intent gaze that caressed her naked skin. But she took her time and lingered, teasingly, in the water, letting the cool stream splash over her small firm breasts. Later, she stretched out on the grassy bank for a long time before putting her clothes on. There was a fire in her body that night as she had never felt before, and it was tantalizing to know he was looking at her all the while, and have to pretend she didn't notice. Finally, she dressed and he was gone, and she returned to the castle with triumph in her heart.

It wasn't too long after that their bonding ceremony took place. They were barely of age, but felt they could wait no longer. This time, they went into the forest together, and she thought her heart would explode in her chest as he pulled off her clothes. In her eagerness, she would have had him sooner, but he insisted on making her his wife first. So be it. He was hers now, and as his hands traveled back and forth and up and down, exploring her body for the very first time, she growled in impatience, tugging at his belt until his loincloth fell down. She then beckoned him to roll on top of her. For so long, she had dreamed of being crushed by the heat and weight of his body.

"Now, my love," was all she could manage through the haze of desire that weakened her limbs and made her almost unable to speak.

"Now and forever," he replied, mounting her.

His roar of passion sent a few small animals scattering about, and she couldn't contain her cry of ecstasy as they finally came together as one.

The alchemy of her memories was forever changed, she thought with grief as she gathered her limbs together, hugged herself and rocked back and forth. Her body felt ugly, contaminated, as if poison was coursing through her blood.


	7. Blood

"Goliath, hold on."

He stopped and looked across his shoulder, annoyed at having been delayed.

"Yes?"

Liz walked forward, her footsteps echoing across the stone floor. "Are you going on patrol so early?"

"Not tonight," he replied, "I asked Brooklyn to step in my stead."

"Again?" she sounded dismayed, "he did it last night too."

"He doesn't mind."

"May I ask..." she saw the frozen expression of his face and lowered her voice, sounding anxious, "I know what you are up to. You are going after Thailog. On your own."

He didn't deny it, and she interpreted his silence as encouragement enough to go on.

"Please, come off it. This is responsibility of NYPD now, and if we don't solve this soon, it will pass into the hands of the FBI."

"Up until two nights ago, the NYPD was keen to get help from us," he rumbled.

"Well, then," she placed a hand on his arm, "let everybody else help, too. Send the across the city, if you think he is still around."

He didn't answer. She tightened her grip on his arm, her expression pleading:

"Goliath, I thought we were supposed to be friends."

"We are," he said, "but there are some things you wouldn't understand."

"No," said Liz in a strangled voice, after a brief pause, "I'm afraid I will never understand why you are setting forth to seek revenge for someone who would have killed you before you could blink, if she only had the chance."

"As I said," he repeated, "you wouldn't understand."

"Oh, but I do!" she fired up, "Clan honor, leader's duty, bloody laws of defense and revenge worthy of Vikings"

"Never," his voice rose warningly, "compare me to those who killed for ambition and profit, or worse, for mere entertainment!"

"I'm sorry," her expression softened, "of course, you... I shouldn't have said it like this. But really, Goliath, I thought you were above this."

"Well," he growled, "you thought wrong, then, didn't you?"

She stopped and studied his face, contemplating. "Do you have an idea where to look for him, at least? If so, tell me, because we could really use every bit of -"

"I'm sorry," he said, "but I will not. Forgive me, Elisa, but even the two of us are still looking for the same villain, our aims are different now."

"You don't care, then, about the network of deadly weapon trade which had already cost so many innocent lives?"

"I do," said Goliath, "if he is stopped, so is whatever unworthy plan he might be hatching. Does it matter which way -"

She stepped closer, her brown eyes locked with his impenetrable black.

"You don't have to follow thousand-year-old bloodthirsty customs for the sake of your poor unfortunate _clansmate_," she put emphasis on the last word, her voice betraying a hint of sarcasm. She then stopped pretense and took hold of his hand, sounding desperate:

"Goliath, I know you don't _want_ to do this."

But alas, he realized as he broke free from her grip, she didn't realize how wrong she is. The hatred coursing through his blood surged powerfully, seizing his throat, inflaming his heart, incomparable with the feeling of bitter righteousness he set out with to find Demona and Thailog two nights ago.

_Did_ he have an idea where to look? Well, he flattered himself that he probably wasn't as ignorant as Liz must have thought him. He had been involved in the investigation from the first, after all; he had access to the NYPD information through Liz and Matt, and on top of that he had something the NYPD didn't: an understanding of Thailog, not only as one of his kind, but as someone who was essentially _him_ – if not in upbringing, loyalties and principles, then in instincts, reflexes, understanding and temper.

He closed his eyes, willing a brainwave to sweep over him... think, if you were in his place, what would you do now? Where would you go? Try to grasp that, had you been created the same way as Thailog, in all likelihood you would be just like him.

Just like him.

This was an unpleasant thought, even unnerving, but it made no difference to his purpose.

In Thailog's place, he thought, he would have visited the scene of ravage again. He would have wanted to know whether the vile deed he had done was enough to break her completely and kill her, whether through her own desperate last act, or through her defenseless exposure to other enemies. He would belatedly think that perhaps she had found a last remaining bit of strength within her to crawl away and hide. He would have vaguely regretted, perhaps, the carelessness which made him simply abandon her there, without the last neat stroke of putting her out of her misery.

His eyes snapped open. He knew now where he ought to go first.

The accusations of Liz weren't pleasant to hear, but what made it worse was the grain of truth in them. Yes, he felt... confused, as if he had gone off track, not knowing anymore whether he is doing what he is supposed to. It used to be all so very clear, once: protect, lead and guide your clan. Protect the people of your home. Be brave, honest, loyal. Deal with your enemies. Defend your friends. Yet now... did he do right by allowing this additional, uncertain duty to take over his life?

This has nothing to do with _me_, he repeated as if saying this over and over again would make it true. I am only doing this because there is a certain basic justice, basic responsibility I must act with towards every member of my clan, even as misguided and long-lost as her.

Once he stepped into the barrack again, he felt grim satisfaction. Thailog had, in fact, been here again; there were fresh tracks in the mud that could only have belonged to a giant like him, and the smell that lingered suggested that he had left were hours ago. But where would he go from there?

Let's think... he stood right here, feeling annoyed and perhaps slightly apprehensive once he saw that she was gone. He would then have concluded she was alive, and to finish his grisly mission he would set out to find and kill her. He would, then, go and look in all the places where she might be hiding, lying low. It would never occur to him, of course, that she is with her former clan, though if he saw their tracks and smelled them, he might easily have thought she had been arrested. But to make sure, he would of course first search all of Demona's safehouses he knew of.

Goliath wouldn't tell her this, but some of them were actually known to him as well. What were the odds, now, that Thailog would be found in one of those?

He examined the tracks closely. They pointed east, leading to a spot where they stopped abruptly – presumably, Thailog took off from there.

It was very unlikely he would be so lucky, but it was still worth a try.

Goliath felt a surge of savage triumph as he reached the old laboratory of Demona's, where Thailog was brutally pulling out shelves, strewing their contents all over the floor, which was now littered with shards of glass and shreds of paper. Evidently, he was in the midst of a fervent search for something – an object of value? A piece of information?

Goliath thought it would be beneath him to hide from such scum. Deliberately, without rushing, he stepped forward, allowing his clone to see him.

"Well, look who is here," sneered Thailog, carefully hiding his shock, "the pet gargoyle of the police."

"You are mistaken," Goliath didn't speak loudly, but his voice echoed in the vast space,  
>"I am here on my own behalf."<p>

"Did you actually come alone?" Thailog's eyebrows rose mockingly, "in that case I doubt you will succeed in arresting me. After all, I _am_ you... or you are me. To overpower me, you need someone else to back you up."

"I am not you," said Goliath in a tone of deadly calm, "and I did not come to arrest you."

Thailog's eyes darted around, looking for venues of escape or more enemies – Goliath didn't know or care either way.

"Why are you here, then?" his clone's eyes narrowed suspiciously.

"Demona," Goliath said curtly.

"Oh," Thailog looked somewhat relieved, as if he believed he was no longer the main object of the pursuit, "well, I don't know where she is now, so no use trying to wheedle it out of me."

"There will be no need for that," said Goliath, and the first hint of the fury raging inside him could be heard in his voice, "I know perfectly well where she is."

Thailog's palms met several times in mock applause.

"Well done! You are one step ahead of me, then. Is she in the hands of the police? Or is it the FBI dealing with her now?"

"Neither," replied Goliath, "for now, _I_ am dealing with her."

"Well," Thailog looked at him appraisingly, "if you join forces with me against her, and promise to let me off, I can give you enough evidence to have her kept locked and isolated for the rest of her life."

An odd sound appeared in Goliath's ears, something between a hum and ringing. He was having difficulty to stop himself from shaking with suppressed rage. Thailog underestimated him. Right now, he could have taken on a hundred enemies, and it still wouldn't have quenched the thirst for blood he had felt for the first time in his life.

"After what you had done to her," he said, "there will be no need for that, either."

For a moment Thailog stared, bewildered. Then, understanding dawning upon him, he threw back his head and roared with laughter – horrible, cold, cruel laughter that reverberated off the ceiling and walls.

"Oh, Goliath, you are incredible," he breathed out, an expression of evil glee on his face, "what are you going to do, heal the poor bird's broken wing and release her back into the wild?"

Goliath clenched his fests, talons digging deep into skin. The waves of hatred emanating from him were so powerful it was a wonder his enemy didn't sense them and run for his life.

"Unbelievable," taunted his clone, "frankly, I am embarrassed to know that someone of my genetic makeup could be such an imbecile. It does me no honor."

"Honor?" thundered Goliath, "You have no idea what the word means!"

Saying that, he lunged straight at Thailog. His clone dodged a heavy blow of a massive fist and reappeared from behind one of the store cupboards, all trace of amusement gone from his face.

"Don't be a fool, Goliath," he said urgently, "you have always been my rival, but the vile bitch isn't worth killing each other for. I have learned I can't count on her loyalty -"

"Loyalty," Goliath growled dangerously, "is something else you have no clue about!"

Damn it all, he said. Damn her, damn him, damn me, he said as he moved to strike and kill.

Though he was ruthless with his enemies when it was needed, he never took particular joy in killing. This, however, was a different case. He stood by and watched almost gleefully as the blood of his enemy's life trickled down to the floor, and didn't move when he was asked for the gift of mercy. Let him die slowly, let him suffer. He felt as though his heart was made of stone.

He was going back, his mission accomplished, his soul darker than it had ever been. He was fully prepared for the gasps of horror that would issue from all directions with his arrival, and kept his face impassive.

Sure enough, when he appeared, there was a collective intake of breath. It wasn't only the wounds and the blood that trickled down from about every part of his body – his enemy's blood and his own as well. His face was fearsome to behold, as if he was suddenly someone they knew not, as if, by leaving the empty shell of his enemy behind, he had unwillingly taken a bit of his soul with him.

"Goliath, what happened?" gaped Brooklyn, "where have you been – what have you -"

"Is everybody here?" asked the leader, realizing he can use his voice, however hoarse and harsh it now sounded.

"It's just us now, lad," said Hudson, "Elisa and the others are gone for the night."

Good, that was good. He had no wish to face Elisa's accusations so soon.

"Where is she?" he asked, and no one needed to inquire whom he meant.

"We never know, do we?" Brooklyn replied with a hint of bitterness in his voice.

"I will go and bring her, if that is what you wish, father," Angela said fearfully, "but what -"

There was no need to set out to find her, though. Attracted by the voices and the urgent exclamations, the witch stepped forward calmly. She then looked up at the Leader. Their eyes met, and in a split second, she knew what had happened, without words – more clearly than any of the others who heard a detailed account later on.

He looked terrible, worse than she had looked when he found her. She didn't ask anything, because there was no need to, but she still felt a compelling wish to hear the words.

"I killed him," he said.

"Thank you," she said simply. She didn't know what to feel. The fear she had felt ever since _that_ night was gone, but behind it, a hollow was left, a chasm she didn't yet know how to fill. Her revenge was done, completed, and she had no anger left, no will to fight, none of what had propelled her forward in the past years. It was as though a mechanism was broken, and all that was left of her was an empty shell.

Something was aching inside her, and she was grateful for having at least that dull ache to let her know she is still alive.

Remembering something, the Leader reached for a small pouch at his belt and extracted an object from it.

"Your ring," he said, handing it over to her.

She took it from him and held it in the open palm of her hand, appraising its weight. It was a magnificent ring of white gold with a dark purple, almost black amethyst embedded in it. It had a regal look. In the past, she had paid dearly to have this ring, which was necessary for much of her magic. Now, however, she strangely felt having it had no meaning anymore. That, too, was broken.

She pocketed it almost nonchalantly.

"Aren't you going to put it on?" He asked, startled.

A ghost of a smile played on her lips as she replied,

"I doubt it."

"...You know what the problem is?" stormed Liz, "It's that you were never really working with us on this to begin with! It was always_ your _personal vendetta – first against her, then against him! How stupid I've been to not realize it before! I should never have let you get involved in this!"

The girl had some nerve, this had to be admitted. Not many were willing to confront the raging, growling mass of flesh and sinew Goliath was prone to become when contradicted.

He didn't reply. Whatever he could say, it didn't matter now, and besides, he was beginning to feel weak... drained. He craved the dawn, which would bring blessed relief to his brain and his body.

"The investigation is stuck now that you got rid of the main suspect without interrogating him first!" Liz didn't relent.

"You know NYPD would have let him out on parole if only he agreed to start talking," he said in a low rumble. "Or at most, they'd lock him for a few months in those ridiculously comfortable cells of yours. It wasn't enough."

"We could legally prosecute him, we could fight for a more serious sentence if that was what you wanted!"

"No," the Leader shook his head, "he had to pay now, and he had to pay the price of his life. Are you going to report me?"

"I will try to pass it off for self-defense," said Liz, almost crying, "but Goliath, oh, Goliath, why did you have to do this? He died without giving the information on his clan's projects, and we have no lead now!"

"He ruined her," Goliath said, very quietly, "you must have noticed. She will never be the same again."

The woman's eyes flashed.

"If you mean that she will never reach quite the same degree of being a manipulative, conniving, scheming, treacherous evil bitch, then I'd say it's all to the good!"

Withering under his gaze, she fled.

He was staring at the floor, his bloody hands hanging limply at his sides.

Mary stepped out of the shadows and approached him quietly. Trying not to succumb to the tremor she always felt in his presence, she placed a hand on his shoulder. She had to outstretch it above her head. The skin of his bare shoulder felt tough, much tougher than human skin.

"I'm sorry," she said quietly, "I'm truly sorry, Goliath. I can imagine what this must be like for you –"

He turned sharply, and she took one step back.

"For me?" he growled, "for _me_? I'm just doing my duty."

Mary looked after him sadly as he marched away, every limb in his body stiff and angry.

Then she heard a thud behind the corner. Running there, she was shocked to see the Leader collapsed in a heap upon the floor. She called for help, and with the joint efforts of Matthew, Liz and the Elder, they were able to resuscitate him.

When he opened his eyes, he saw nothing but blackness. He did, however, hear the collective drawing of breath of everyone surrounding him.

"Goliath, you fool," the witch said softly, "you incorrigible idiot, answer just one question: did you actually let him get anywhere near you?"

"I killed him with my bare hands," growled the Leader.

"No," she whispered, shaking her head, "I can't believe this."

In one sharp movement, she bent and searched for something, then extracted a metal pin out of his broad back. It was long and extremely thin, and had sat there, unnoticed, for hours.

"Analyze this all you want, humans," she said, dropping the pin into a plastic bag Mary handed to her with shaking hands, "I know this poison, he had used it many times. It would have killed you by daybreak."


	8. Blindness

"You are very lucky, Goliath," Matt said solemnly, "very lucky indeed."

The leader said nothing. Apparently, the prospect of lifelong blindness was not considered good fortune as far as he was concerned.

"This poison is nothing like we ever came across," continued Matt, "apparently, it acts through the central nervous system, with blindness rapidly followed by stopping of the heart's function. It certainly seems your clone met his end thinking he is taking you along with him."

"In that case," Goliath slowly said, "if it weren't for Demona..."

"Matt," Elisa said tentatively, "you don't think, do you, that it could be – you know – _her_ work?"

Hudson, the last of the foursome participating in this discussion, raised his eyebrows.

"I know it looks as though it was precisely the other way around," Elisa said quickly, apologetically, "but... just consider the possibility that _she_ injected the poison... and then -"

"Removed the needle at the last moment?" questioned Matt, "But why?"

"I don't know," mused Elisa, "to make us trust her?"

"But where would she have got the poison?" asked Hudson, "She has been here with us this past week, and we know she hasn't left the castle. And she surely had nothing on her when the lad brought her here."

"I didn't think of that," admitted Liz.

"Perhaps she simply... well, did what she seemed to have done," suggested Mat with a shrug of his shoulders, "you know, saved Goliath's life. Perhaps there really was no other motive."

"It is clear you haven't known her for very long," said Elisa, and although Goliath couldn't see her face, he could clearly sense the plea in her voice, calling him to back her up in her mistrust, which was no doubt well-justified.

"It really does seem as though she prevented Thailog from killing me," Goliath said finally, "but the question is, why? She had always wanted me out of the way, and this was the perfect opportunity. Not that I'm still good for anything," he added bitterly, "for all intents and purposes, I am finished... unless someone can find a cure."

"Don't say that, lad," the Elder reproved softly, "your eyesight isn't all you are worth."

"No. But am I not worthless without it?" Goliath's query was left to hang in mid-air, unanswered.

Later, alone, no matter how many times he turned this matter around in his brain, he couldn't work it out. Did she want him to live? All facts said yes, but for what reason? Was this simply a token of gratitude? He had had too much experience with seeking the deeply buried grain of goodness somewhere within the secret depths of her soul, and getting disappointed one time after another, to believe it without further questioning. But then again, what other choice did he have?

"What is going to happen to me?" He asked her, staring into the darkness that now engulfed him at all times.

Despite the protests of Liz, Matthew and the Elder, he asked that they be left alone in the library. Her quiet footsteps followed him there, and she closed the creaking door.

"I don't know," she said, "none of his victims ever noticed this poison in time to live and tell the tale. Usually, when they passed out, there was no one around to understand what is going on and extract the pin."

"I feel better now," said the Leader, "but…" he ran a hand over his eyes. "Am I going to remain blind?"

She was silent.

"You don't know, do you? Matt and Mary are saying they are conducting an analysis of the poison, that it probably caused some sort of permanent damage, but other than that…"

"I wouldn't count on human medicine," said the witch. "I will try to help you get your eyesight back."

"Will you?" He asked sharply, "why would you?"

"I don't want to owe you," she replied bitterly.

"You already saved my life. We're even."

"You did more than saving my life. You protected me and avenged me. I don't have much strength left in me now, but… I can try doing what I can with what remains to me."

"You aren't sure it will work, though?" He asked cautiously.

"No," she admitted, "it would take the infusion of most advanced magic into a potion, and I have never done anything like that. And even under the best circumstances, it will take some time."

"Time in the dark," he said, very somber.

"Are you afraid of the darkness, Goliath?" She asked, studying the shadows of his face. "Have you never been in the dark?"

"Not… not to such an extent, no," he truthfully replied, "there was always a sliver of moonlight, or the twinkle of a star, or the rippling reflections of water. There was always something to dispel the black. Now there is naught. And if a cure isn't found soon, I will have to renounce my leadership."

"Don't be an even bigger fool than I already know you are," snapped the witch, "you can't do that."

"Oh?" He raised an eyebrow, "I thought there was a time you believed it is precisely what I ought to do. What has changed?"

"There is no one else they would have for a Leader," the witch admitted grudgingly, "and let's be frank, there is no one currently fit to replace you. Your Second is too young and inexperienced."

"I can't lead if I can't fight and I can't fight if I am blind."

"Then stop thinking of yourself as blind," she advised, "perhaps you cannot use your eyes, but if you sharpen your senses you can still see. I have fought in places of total darkness. I can show you how to do it. Come on."

"Now?" He winced. "I'm not on my best form."

"I daresay not," her laugh rang hollow, "but I have two broken ribs and a wing that hasn't healed yet, and I feel as though my body had been torn into a thousand pieces and roughly assembled together again. I think we're opponents worthy of each other right now. Turn to face me, Goliath."

"I don't know where you are," he said.

"No?" Her voice sounded derisive. "Can't you hear where my voice is coming from? Or are you a pitiful human who can't even smell?"

He could smell her, that's for sure. He sharply inhaled, trying to block up his mind to the fact that her musky scent reminded him of moonlit nights and the cool depth of forests and the feeling of twigs and leaves scratching his naked back as he was pushed down to the ground.

Then he turned to face her.

"That's right," she nodded, though she knew he can't see it, "smell me. Detect the heat coming from me. Feel how the air moves when I move. And then, blind or not, you will be able to see me – and fight me. Pathetic," she easily shrugged off his first kick. "You won't defeat even a twelve-year-old human child this way. Come again. Try to get me. Me, not the spot where I was five seconds ago, you wimp. Ooh, that's better, now. Yes, that's better. By the time we make that potion, you might realize you can fight just as well with your eyes closed."

"...I am really, really sorry about this, Goliath," said Matt apologetically, "but you will have to come in for an interrogation."

"For getting rid of the foulest bit of scum that ever polluted this earth?" growled the giant gargoyle.

"For sabotaging the investigation," explained Matt, "and really, I am on your side, but this isn't my decision, so please, will you come so we can settle this quietly?"

"If it is necessary," said Goliath.

Rody Daniels, the big, black, square-shouldered police officer who met them at the station was less placid.

"Damn it!" he pounded the table with his fist in frustration, "This investigation has been going on for six months, and I was hoping I would extract information from that bastard about the Paris gang – I know for a fact he had been there lately! What in hell did you do this for, Goliath? I respect your kind, and I know your clan has laws of their own, but here I put my foot down! I won't lose important suspects to your barbaric bloodthirst!"

"Rody," Matt said quietly, "you know he attacked, you know what happened to Goliath. You saw the poison analysis..."

"Yes, I know!" shouted Daniels, spraying them all with spit, "But don't take me for a fool, Matt! I know it only happened because Goliath struck first! Now, I really wish to know why -"

"Do with me what you will," Goliath said in an abrupt voice, in a tone of horrible finality.

Daniels scanned him with a momentary shrewd look – the huge figure, the unseeing face.

"You two, come on," he said to Matt and Mary, "let me talk this over with you outside for a minute. Goliath, wait here for a bit, won't you?"

Together, the three went out into the empty corridor.

"Don't kid me," Rody said quietly, "that was no self-defense. I saw the body when it was returned here. Haven't seen such brutality in all my time in the NYPD, and I have been working in Manhattan these fifteen years."

Daniels glanced through the glass office window and saw the enormous figure of the gargoyle leader. Goliath had let his head fall into his hands, and his shoulders were hunched. Despair was etched in each line of his muscular, sinewy body.

"I know Goliath," Daniels said quietly, "not as well as Liz – had to schedule this interview while she's on duty, by the way, didn't want to have her here – not even as well as you two, perhaps. But enough to know that he isn't the type who would commit pointless cruelty, whatever he looks like. I also know he didn't get like this," he gestured through the window, "for fear of my inquiry. I want to know."

"He lost his eyesight..." Matt began again, but Daniels cut across him:

"No. First, he set out to kill this bastard Thailog. Why?"

Mary couldn't take it anymore. After another look at the stopped figure of Goliath, she went back through the office door, forgetting all her former intimidation in face of the gargoyle leader, and squeezed his hand, whispering words Rody and Matt could not hear.

"Well?" demanded Rody, looking at Matt.

"Thailog raped his wife," Matt replied curtly, feeling a prickle of shame for the words he would have so much rather kept to himself. Daniels looked as though he had the wind knocked out of him.

"Bloody hell," he whispered, his mouth going suddenly dry, "his – his..."

"Or the one who used to be his wife," amended Matt, "don't ask me, they sure make these things as complicated as we do. One thing's for sure, she's Angela's mother and he hasn't been the same since he found out what happened to her."

When he entered the office again, Daniels looked sheepish.

"Um... Goliath," he said in a voice appropriate to someone's deathbed, "I – we talked it over and, really, you were punished enough already to need any more remonstrations. I just hope that – that your -"

A sharp dig of Mary's elbow in his ribs made him clear his throat and change direction mid-phrase:

"… I just hope your eyesight is back soon. The city watch just isn't the same without you."

If Goliath noticed the awkwardness in his voice, he didn't show it. He merely inclined his head.

"Thank you," he said rather drily, "can I go now, then?"

"Of course. Don't you worry, Goliath. I'll smooth this all over, pass it off as self-defense..."

"Help me get home," Goliath asked Matt and Mary, "you know I cannot get there on my own anymore."

"I am working on the potion," she informed him later that night, "it will still take some time to brew, but it should be ready before long."

"You can't promise it will function, though?"

She shook her head.

"No one can promise such a thing. As far as I know, such a cure has never been made before. I would have made it sooner if I still had days at my disposal as well as nights, but..."

"Do you miss it?" he asked suddenly.

"What?" she didn't understand.

"The sun," he said wistfully, "you alone of our kind have seen it and lived to tell the tale. I have seen only pictures, and in our time here in Manhattan, films – but I have heard there is nothing like the warm sun shining in all its glory upon one's face. Do you miss it?"

"Sometimes I do," she admitted, "but I have to confess I am far better refreshed by stone sleep throughout the day, instead of human fitful slumber."

"The legend of our kind tells that the ones facing their final sunrise get to see it. According to it, the sun is the last vision before one's eyes as they close for their final rest. Seeing it almost seems a fit price for parting with this life."

"It is unlike you to think of such things," she remarked.

"What, dying? Haven't you ever thought of it?"

"Of course I have," she replied darkly, "more than all of you, perhaps, since my life was magically extended. At times, one does get tired."

"I expect so. If I had lived a thousand years..."

"But I haven't," she interrupted him, "not really."

"No?" he sounded surprised.

"No. I retained the power to put a spell of magical sleep on myself, for as long as I wished it. And I did so, eventually for centuries at a time, after waking up each time to a world more and more horrible, and none of our kind to be found. There were times I thought I was the only one, and I... I found relief in sleep. Unfortunately, as a legend I have been powerful enough to keep the Hunters on the lookout for me even as I disappeared for so long."

He was listening with rapt attention. This was the first time he was getting first-hand information on what she had been up to during those centuries while he and the other surviving members of the clan spent their days and nights as lifeless statues.

The same thought, apparently, crossed her mind as well.

"Why am I telling you all this?"

"How long has it been since you told anyone?"

"Long," she replied tartly, "and I don't think this is a good time to change habits."

No conversation with her, Goliath thought, could ever pass without a sting.

The door to the steam baths was pushed open, and Goliath didn't bother to ask who it was. He recognized her footsteps, and besides, everybody else knew this was his hour at the baths.

"Get out of here immediately," he exhaled sharply, "I'm undressed."

Considering the fact that he usually wore nothing but a loincloth anyway, this was probably a gross overstatement, but still, there was something unnerving in being caught by her with his privates uncovered.

"Don't fuss so much," she replied almost lazily, and he heard the unmistakable rustle of her clothes sliding down to the floor, "I'm in need of a bath, and this castle has not yet adopted the modern convenience of private showers. Besides, there is nothing I haven't seen."

He felt the tumble of water as she slid into the hot pool on the side opposing his. He sank a few inches deeper.

"Well, there is nothing I haven't seen, either," he replied darkly, "but I still doubt you would just stroll in like that if you hadn't known I'm blind."

"There's a bar of soap next to you," she said, ignoring his statement. "Toss it across, will you?"

Sometimes imagination is worse than plain sight, he mused. He couldn't see her, but he had a hard time blocking out the image of her long strong legs and curving hips just visible under the surface of the water, of the glistening wetness of her small firm breasts, of the delicate line of her neck and shoulders framed by fiery red wet hair. He could sense she was scrubbing herself with patient efficiency, though in no hurry. He was already done with that part, and was just relaxing in the hot water when she came.

He wondered whether she was staring at him, and sank yet deeper into the water. As good as he was at presenting his face like a stony mask, to his shame there were certain bodily reactions he could never quite control while in her presence, and at no time this had made him feel as awkward as now.

She was observing him through the light misty curtain of steam rising from the water. It has been a while since she had the opportunity to stare at him for longer than it took her to bare her teeth, snarl and attack. Right now it felt as though she was studying his features anew.

And, the words rang in her mind before she could stop them, he was magnificent.

He had always been magnificent. Like a lion, with his broad jaw and mane of dark wet hair that tumbled down his back, with his glistening wet massive shoulders and enormous chest and mightily sculpted muscular arms. His face was slightly lined now, in contrast to the youth he had been when he first took her to wife. He looked more mature now, and more tired.

She wondered if she looked tired too. She had certainly felt it. Their earlier training session had drained them both. If it felt odd to be helped by him after years of enmity, it was even more unusual to be helping him herself.

Throughout the years, adding fuel to the fire of her anger and resentment towards him helped her shift the focus off herself, off what _she_ had done. Heaping guilt on him helped her fill a chasm that would otherwise be too horrendous to face. This was increasingly difficult to do now that the source of her power was gone, her senseless, desperate soul was shattered by a final blow from her enemy, and she was at Goliath's mercy.

Not that things were ever idyllic between them, she reminded herself. There had been many conflicts back at home when she was his Second. There were nights when they fought as if they made love, and made love as if they fought.

She loved those nights the best.

Startled, she felt heat between her legs that did not come from the water. It spread throughout her body, tingling. So she was still alive after all, she thought ironically – and everything be damned, she ought to get out of this pool as soon as possible. She put her arms around herself, suddenly afraid. Damn it all, it was him.

After all these years, it could never be anyone but him.

She scrambled for her clothes.

"Are you mad, Goliath?" whispered Liz. "Are you actually going to drink this grisly thing she brewed for you? With your own blood and the hair from her head and all the rest of that medieval craziness?"

"Do you have any better offer?" He rumbled. "Were your doctors able to find a cure for what this poison has done to me?"

Liz silently shook her head, not bothering to answer. Both knew perfectly well that according to the results of the medical examination, the damage was irreversible. The nerve was dead; Goliath was to be blind until the end of his days.

"But this is very risky," implored Liz, "just consider how easy it could be for her to put something deadly in this potion, and then claim you died because of magic that backfired or something…"

"I don't think she wants me dead now," said the Leader, "but then, I can't claim to really know what is going on in her head. All I know is that this is my only chance to go back to what I had been. It's either this or to carry on a pitiful existence, wondering what might have been. I must try it. I must."

As if on cue, the witch entered, carrying a steaming goblet in her hands.

"Drink this," she said, and perhaps it only seemed to him, but he thought he detected a slight quiver in her voice. "I can't promise anything, but I did my best. I'm drained of magic. If anything works, this must."

"And if it doesn't work?" asked Liz, her eyes narrowed. "What will be the consequences?"

"If it doesn't work, at any rate it shouldn't do harm, either," replied the witch.

"_Shouldn't_…" sneered Liz, "how convenient for you."

"If I wanted to kill you," said Demona, looking now directly at Goliath, "I could have simply let the poison take its effect, and no one would have been any the wiser."

Still, Liz looked unconvinced.

"Look," said the witch, "I will take a sip, too. It should have no effect on me."

And so she did – and offered the goblet to him with a confident gesture, though she knew he couldn't see.

He accepted the goblet into his outstretched hand, closed his eyes, and drained it in one mighty gulp. He couldn't detect a taste, but it made his head swirl like strong wine.

When he opened his eyes, she was the first thing he saw. Her eyes were closed, too.

And when her eyelids fluttered open, there was a look of deep bewilderment underneath them.


	9. In Memoriam

"So," Liz said triumphantly, placing her hands on her hips, "she didn't know what she was doing, after all."

"How can you say that," thundered Goliath, "when my eyesight is back!"

"Her memory is d-definitely gone, though," stuttered David, the department psychiatrist.

"Are you sure, Dave?" asked Liz, "Can't this be some sort of trick?"

He shook his head.

"I d-don't think s-so," he said, "from my experience… this is real. Full amnesia. The poor creature doesn't remember who she is, who you are, where she is, or how or why she got here."

"Well, she's up for a few surprises when you tell her, Goliath," said Liz.

"I – I wouldn't… that is to say, I'm not sure that would be the b-best s-solution," David put in.

"What do you mean, exactly?" Liz rounded on him.

"Well," he weighed his words, "I'm just s-saying… in such cases, when patients were told the f-full truth straight away… the shock was often too great to ever get their m-memory back. That is, they had the knowledge of their past, b-but the memory was forever lost."

"So what do you suggest?" asked Goliath, "that we keep her in the dark?"

"N-not exactly," said David, "I think y-you should give her some time to recuperate her memory… while prompting her with meaningful situations and places. You know, things that m-mean a lot to her. That can provoke flashes of memory."

"That's all too far from here," Goliath shook his head, looking very somber, "and how long do you think it will take her to recover her memory?" he asked.

David Bolton was always a timid boy, but his stutter became prominently worse when he found himself fixed with the stare of the gargoyle leader.

"Th-th-th... there can be no exact t-time limit... I c-c-can g-give no g-guarantee..."

"Calm down, Dave," Mary said soothingly, "no one is asking you to do the impossible, we are simply trying to understand what is going on."

"Well, I hope she is back to normal soon," said Elisa, "or whatever is normal for her, anyway, because she can't stay here."

"Oh?" Bolton looked surprised, "isn't sh-she... isn't she from this clan?"

"No," said Elisa.

"Yes," said Angela at the same time.

"It's kinda complicated, laddie," concluded Hudson with an exasperated sigh, "I suppose you'd like to know why, but explaining would take us o'er the dawn."

"It all feels so weird," said Angela in an anguished voice, "to look at your mother and talk to her, and know she doesn't know she is your mother. We must try to bring her back, no matter what it takes."

The Leader threw his daughter a sharp look, but didn't say anything. He didn't point out the obvious – that while Demona's memory was gone, so was her enmity towards them all, and so was the danger of her going back to her destructive plans. Basically, without the baggage of her memories, the greater part of what they knew to be Demona was gone – and a tiny, subtle voice he knew he would never quite give in to, wondered whether this was such a terrible tragedy after all.

"...Who am I?" she asked Angela, who made it a habit to stop by whenever she had some free time. The young female shook her head sadly.

"You already know this, I can't tell you. I'm very sorry," she added, "we are hopeful memory will come back to you on its own."

She mulled it over for a minute or two, decided to let the matter drop for the time being, then asked:

"How did I get here?"

"Goliath found you," Angela was relieved at having been asked a question she can answer, in however limited a way, "you were badly injured, and he brought you here."

She sighed. This, at least, she wished she could have remembered. Being rescued by Goliath seemed such a thrilling prospect any injury would surely have been dwarfed.

"Where is my clan?" she asked next, and when she saw a shadow of sorrow pass across Angela's face, she added, "I know I don't belong to _this_ clan, by the way they treat me. They all seem so distant."

"You have no clan," Angela whispered, biting her lip. Her mother looked aghast.

"No clan? But... but our kind do not usually live on their own. Did I? Always?"

"No," replied Angela in a faltering voice, "not always."

"I must have had brothers and sisters, then," she concluded, "elders and leaders and perhaps a beloved and children... what happened, then?"

"Don't ask me," begged Angela, her expression pleading, avoiding the dark questioning gaze of her mother's eyes.

"Some of those who live in this castle look at me with poorly disguised hostility," said Demona, "and I cannot fathom why. Speaking of this castle, it _is_ a very unusual building in this city. How come does it happen to be here? I feel there is a dark secret, something everybody but me knows. It's driving me insane," she concluded hotly.

"I know it's difficult to trust when you know so little," Angela said in a tremulous voice, "but you must believe me. We want you to remember, and we want you to be well. No one here will harm you. Can you at least believe this much?"

Her mother looked at her intently, then slowly nodded.

"Soon, I'm sure, you will remember, and then everything will be fine, you'll see," Angela added, trying to sound comforting, fighting the sickening feeling of telling a lie. She knew nothing will be fine once her mother's memory returns, along with many years of solitude and pain.

"...I hope you don't mind me saying this, Dave," Mary said cautiously, "but I'm afraid we are doing her an unkindness."

"You think so?" Bolton raised an eyebrow. Normally, he would have gotten defensive and probably unpleasant when contradicted in front of others, but with Mary, things were different.

She was very pretty; not magazine cover style pretty, but in his opinion, just what a young woman should be. She was short, of small build, with soft-looking curves most would have defined as artless plumpness but which looked simply wonderful to him. She had a mop of thick chestnut hair and bright green eyes. There was something comforting about her manner, and her character retained so much youthful straightforward honesty that he doubted she would ever have indulged even in such innocent manipulation as flirting.

Not that _he_ would ever flirt, even with women who encouraged it. At thirty five years old, Bolton was shy like the junior high school chess club member he had been.

He cleared his throat, banishing this train of unprofessional thoughts.

"I'm afraid so," repeated Mary, "you see, in this particular case, there is perhaps too much to be discovered. If she remembers it all at once, the shock will be great."

"And serves her right," Brooklyn interjected with relish. Angela cast him a dirty look.

"Again, Dave, this is your field of expertise," continued Mary as though she hadn't heard, "but I think that perhaps she ought to be – you know – gradually prepared, somehow, for what is to come."

"What say you, Goliath?" Elisa briskly asked the leader, who hitherto kept his silence throughout this discussion. The giant considered this for a moment, then replied:

"We will wait a little longer."

He would have hated to admit to anyone that his answer stemmed not so much from his faith in Dr. Bolton's professional opinion, but more from sheer cowardice. He knew this situation cannot go on forever, knew he ought to promote the return of her memory as much as he can, yet he didn't remember ever dreading something as much as he dreaded this.

... She lifted her eyes as there was a knock on the door. She was glad to see it was Angela who came in. Something she could hardly analyze unmistakably told her Angela was her friend, right from the moment she set her eyes on that pretty young lass. In this strange new world which surrounded her, she knew she could trust Angela.

"There you are!" said the young one, "Why are you hiding out? Dinner is almost ready. I was just wondering whether you will come down and sup with us, or you want me to bring you a tray up here."

"No, no, there's no need to," she shook her red head, "I'll come. I… I was just… getting ready."

Angela noticed her gaze was fixed on the lightly billowing curtain, and when she pulled it back an inch or so, she saw the vast outline of her father's figure. He was standing quite a distance apart, in the wide cold stone corridor, talking to Matthew.

"Oh, I see Goliath is still here," remarked Angela, "we're not too late then, we're not starting without him anyway. Do you want us to go out now and join him?"

The red-haired one hoped her embarrassment was not too evident. She had been deliberating that same question for the past fifteen minutes.

Goliath. It wasn't exactly hard to miss why he was given that name, but she doubted it fit him. She didn't remember anything about her own life, but she knew the biblical Goliath was a brute, a savage. This Leader, however ruthless he may be with his enemies – and she believed he must be – was none of that.

"I know you can't tell me about myself," she told Angela. The young one shook her head sadly.

"Dr. Bolton says your memory should come back on its own, otherwise telling might do more harm than good. And besides…" she hesitated, "there is so much we don't know about you."

And that was true, especially in recent years.

"Tell me about Goliath, then," she asked, trying not to sound too eager. Angela paused, masking the fact that she's a little startled.

"He is my father," she said.

The red-haired one didn't look surprised.

"I thought he must be. You look a lot like him," she remarked. There was another question on her tongue, one she didn't dare to ask, but Angela plowed on.

"He and my mother split up years ago," she said pointedly.

"He must have loved her very much," said the red-haired stranger with a hint of wistfulness in her voice.

"What makes you say that?" asked Angela. "He never speaks of it."

"I can tell by looking at him," she replied, "I cannot imagine Goliath taking a wife without pledging himself to her, heart and soul."

There was such tremor in her voice as she said this that Angela felt a stab in her heart. The way her mother was looking at her father now was one of obvious admiration. She saw how her eyelids fluttered every time her eyes rested on him, how she inclined her head every time he spoke to her. She didn't remember him, but there was something beyond memory that worked its magic on their souls.

She was sitting right opposite him at the dinner table that night. It meant she couldn't lift her eyes from her plate without looking at him. She was eager to look, but found it hard to keep her gaze steady. The aura around him was so powerful it sent tingles into her fingers, so that she had a hard time holding her fork. She didn't think she had ever seen someone so noble and proud.

You don't know that, she reminded herself soberly. You don't know anything. You don't remember anything.

Not even your own name.

After dinner she meant to quietly slip away back upstairs, but a thin strip of light under the library door stopped her. She already knew he was likely to be there alone. As much time as he dedicated to honing his battle skills and training the young ones, there were nights when he sat in his secluded corner, reading old books. There was a look of profound contemplation on his face then, a look that made his face not quite so fierce.

She found herself longing to catch a glimpse of that face.

She stepped into the library, softly and quietly. When he saw her, he looked up, startled. There was a tome of Shakespeare in his hands.

"Need help choosing something interesting to read?" he asked, after seeing her scanning the shelves. She smiled.

"Don't worry. Anything's interesting for someone whose memory was wiped blank."

"You do remember things… about the world… don't you?" he asked, looking at her intently. She played cool, trying to hide the trepidation his gaze, and the fact that he was talking to her, evoked.

"I do," she said, "but when it comes to books… authors… anything more personal – I'm at a loss. It's… I feel as though I am nobody."

"You are not," he said in a low rumble. "We will help you find a way back to – to your world."

She lifted up her eyes and looked at him.

"How well do we know each other, Goliath?"

He looked back. "I know you better than I know myself," he wanted to say. "I don't know you at all," was another phrase that begged to escape from his lips.

"Why do you ask?" was what he said eventually.

"You are very good to me," she said, "very thoughtful. You have done everything in your power to make me comfortable. To make me feel… at home."

Did he? He didn't realize that.

"The clothes you sent for," she continued, "the foods you ordered to be made for me. I'm not sure you realize this, I didn't realize until I saw them, but it seems you know everything I like the best. And… perhaps it is all a coincidence, but I can't help wondering who you are."

"I'm your husband," a voice called in his heart, "I'm that lad you once took by hand and taught the hidden secrets of your body and soul. I'm the one who swore to protect you and lead you, and the one you chose to be one with forever."

"I'm the one you had forsaken," spoke another voice, "the one you betrayed, scorned, stabbed in the back. I'm the one you despise, the one you came to regard as an enemy."

"To know who I am," he finally said, "you must first know who you are. But don't worry. For now, you are safe."

A slight smile was playing on her lips, almost ethereal.

"I believe you," she said, "for some reason, I couldn't feel anything but safe around you."

To hear her voice speak to him so softly was tantalizing. He tried to avert his eyes from the subtle movements of her hips as she walked, from the curves of the body his hands once knew so well. She continued to pace around the library, talking little and scanning the shelves, and sometimes he felt her eyes on him. He realized that, although he kept looking at his book, he didn't turn a single page for half an hour.

Demona, in the meantime, kept pacing along the shelves, eventually reaching out for a stack of old handwritten pages that had caught her eye. She scanned the page with her eyes, then quietly read out:

_"__My midnight rose, who dwells in crumbled stone!_

_I crave your scent; your fragrance makes me yearn_

_For moments past, for dreams and days long gone,_

_For distant lands, for paths with no return."_

Goliath froze where he was sitting. He hadn't realized he had left those pages lying around since the last time he perused them. She continued reading, her voice barely more than a whisper:

_"__The stars are gone; the world will soon remain_

_Black as your heart, and ignorant of pain_

_That plagues the souls of those who dare to hope,_

_Who cannot tell themselves to call a stop."_

His heart pounded violently in his chest. Would it happen now? Would the lines written for her, the powerful anguish of his soul squeezed onto blank paper, make her remember? In a hoarse voice, he completed the last two stanzas:

_"__My twilight rose! The field of war still burns,_

_The battle in my heart will never end._

_I reach for you, forgetful of your thorns,_

_But you slip through my hands like fickle sand._

_The woods, the smells and sounds of summer night - _

_These memories make me your helpless prey._

_I'm yearning for the day, for morning's light,_

_Forgetting I will die with first sun's ray."_

She looked at him in awe. He saw tears sparkling in her eyes, but her face was peaceful, and an uncertain smile played on her lips. She didn't remember. He suppressed a sigh, pushing away the terrifying hope that had filled his heart for a moment.

"Who wrote this?" she asked.

"I did," he replied, after a moment's hesitation. "A long time ago," he pointedly added.

She looked slightly taken aback, then looked over the poem once more, admiration etched in every line of her face.

"That is beautiful."

"Thank you," he replied gruffly. "I... I toy with ink and paper once in a while."

"Well, I think you should do that more often," she replied, her eyes shining.

He knew there was another question burning on her lips, but with great effort, her delicacy managed to overpower her desire to know. No, she wouldn't ask him who the poem was for. Especially as she already had a shrewd guess.

When he first brought her to the castle, she was like a ghost, almost nonexistent. Now it seemed she was everywhere he was. She trained with them, ate with them, and wherever he went, he kept stumbling into her. It was like so many years ago, when they were very young. He couldn't resist her then, and he was having a hard time putting up a fight now. It was like being haunted by a ghost – the ghost of his former love who was not Demona.

"She does look happy, you know, lad," the Elder pointed out, "you'd have trouble denying that. I always knew it was the bad memories haunting her and driving her mad. Perhaps having them wiped out was the most merciful outcome."

"Her memory could be back any time," replied Goliath, clenching his fists, "and… even if I could prevent it, I wouldn't, my mentor."

"Wouldn't you, lad?" the Elder asked quietly.

"I would have given half my life to erase the past," replied the Leader, "but I cannot do it. And pretending it didn't happen is… dishonest. She must know who she is. And what she had done."

On the night of the Equinox, it was with some trepidation that she put on her tunic. It was white with a red sash, as was required by a custom she remembered, though she could not say from where. She took the wreath of spring flowers she had made early in the evening, and eyed it with a hint of doubt.

"Do you think he will… accept these… from me?" She asked Angela quietly. The young one looked at the wreath with something strangely like sorrow reflected in her lovely eyes.

"Do you mean to give these to... my father?" Angela asked an unnecessary question. Her mother nodded, flush rising to her face.

"I'm sure he will be very happy to receive them," Angela assured her, smiling.

And quite a surprise it will be for him, too, she privately thought.

He tried not to look her way when she walked into the dining hall. She was stepping quietly, softly, and her every feature was a reminder of why he had once called her his Angel of the Night. And, he realized, she was walking right towards him. She stopped in front of him, and although he lifted up his eyes, her loveliness was almost too much to behold.

She felt her breath quicken. He was more regal than the human kings whose portraits lined the walls, the noble strength of his features so powerful, so prominent that he looked almost like a carved statue, save for that live warmth radiating from him. The air was filled with the smell of spring flowers, and their heady scent gave her the courage she needed to crown him with her wreath.

"These are for you," she said breathlessly, standing on tiptoe and placing the wreath on top of his slightly inclined head, oblivious to the stares of others. The whiteness of the flowers contrasted with the raven black of his hair. She wished she had dared to touch it, however briefly.

Both his heart and his throat felt so constricted he could hardly breathe. Grief coursed through him as he remembered the first time they exchanged wreaths, back when they were youths. She was the first one to approach him then, too. Only when he was secure of her favor for that night did he dare to present her with his own wreath.

"Thank you," he said, his voice sounding hoarse and rough despite his will, "no one has given me an Equinox wreath for a long time. I wish I had though to make one tonight. I have none to give you."

"No matter," she said brightly, and hesitated for the merest second before asking, "do you dance?"

She glanced at the spot before the fireplace, where Angela was already dancing with her beau. She remembered the Equinox dance, even though she couldn't have told where she learned it.

"What does Goliath think he is _doing_?" said Brooklyn in a very carrying whisper, but was silenced by an elbow in the ribs from Hudson.

The others were staring at him, astonished, but he was past noticing when he took her hand and led her to a spot where they could perform the dance. He knew he shouldn't, but she would be offended if he refused… and the creature she was now, she was no enemy to him. She was… she was…

He preferred not to dwell on that. It was difficult enough to keep his head from swimming while her hand was in his and his other hand was resting on her slender back.

Oh heavens, he is touching me, she thought; I am leaning into his arms and dancing with him and he is touching me. She had never been this close to him before, close enough to feel the heat of his body. One of her hands was in his callused palm but the other was resting on his forearm, and his skin felt smooth and warm to the touch. She was now close enough to study all the lines of his face, the faint creases near his eyes and the one running deep between his eyebrows. She looked up at him and he down at her, and something in his expression told her that maybe, just maybe, she was not such a hopeless fool after all. As they swayed together, she caught herself wanting to lean forward, right into his broad chest, press close to him, have his arms lock around her waist.

There was no fierceness in him now.

To her, he was beautiful.

"Angela?"

She jumped up, startled, and smiled awkwardly.

"Oh – hello... I was – I was just -"

"I'm not sure you ought to be looking that way," he said seriously, pointing towards the terrace, where two silhouettes could be seen in the silver light of a half-moon.

"You're right," sighed Angela, tearing her eyes away from her mother and father with difficulty.

"If it looks confusing to _us_," Broadway lowered his voice, "I can only imagine what it must be like for _him_."

Her eyes filled with tears.

"Angela?" he sounded concerned, "Do you want me to stop that song? We have listened to it about twenty times this evening."

_Please say my name, remember who I am_

_You will find me in the world of yesterday._

"No," said Angela, wiping her eyes, "no, I'm fine. Let's just... let's just get up and go for a stroll or something."

He held out his hand and she took it, and together they slipped quickly and quietly away.

...When they found themselves alone at the terrace, he looked at her once more in a way that made her face flush and her body tingle.

"It was a lovely night," she said in an attempt to break the tension. To her surprise, he shook his head.

"It would have been a night like any other," he said in a raspy voice, "it was you who made it lovely."

"But you look so sad, Goliath," she said quietly, "with no fighting or training or patrol to do, a shadow settles over your face. Is this because you still think of her… of Angela's mother?"

"Yes," he confessed.

Unable to restrain herself any longer, she did what she had wanted to do ever since she laid eyes on him – turned towards him and took a step forward until she was standing quite close, and buried one hand in his thick, smooth, black hair. With her other hand, she reached up to his face, caressing his cheek with her open palm. She stood on tiptoe and her lips touched his in a soft kiss, a questioning, tentative kiss, while she placed one of her hands on his broad chest, right over his heart.

And even though he knew he mustn't, he savored the moment, because it isn't every night that you are once more gifted with a first kiss from the wife of your youth.

But you are stealing these caresses, he ruthlessly reminded himself, you are allowing her to do something she would never have done, had her memory been intact.

He gently disentangled himself and pulled back, squeezing both her hands. She didn't protest and didn't feel offended. She knew it was the grief that has seized his soul who knows how long ago.

He turned away and stood like that for a long time, drawing steadying breaths which were too long to be merely breathing. He swept at his tears, furious with himself, and when he finally turned back to face her, he realized she had been crying. Her eyes were moist and looked upon him with a soft adoration he didn't feel worthy of.

"I'm sorry," he whispered.

"There is no need to be," she replied soothingly, "I just wish I could do something to take some of this pain away. If you gave me the chance," she added, astonished at her own boldness, "I know you could find comfort in me."

He ran his tongue over his lips, avoiding a straight answer. The tone of innocence was gone now, her voice was pure seduction. The way she said "in me" was nothing short of indecent. Bewitched by the tender passion of her gaze, he didn't know what to say to the one who offered to dispel the anguish she herself had inflicted.

He had not meant to be encouraging, to let her pull him into this treacherous game, but his body betrayed him. Unconsciously, his hand reached out to her face, to brush away a stray lock of hair, and lingered on the softness of her skin. He noticed the shadow of triumph in her smile. It was impossible, he knew, to be mistaken for very long about the effect she had on him. She had noticed it, and so did everyone else – there was no privacy to be had in all the many chambers of this magnificent castle so few of them now occupied. Angela, in particular, was always watching them intently, her expression torn between jubilation and worry.

"It's alright," smiled his beloved of so long ago, "I would not expect you to trust me so soon, when you know me so very little."

No, he thought sadly. Just the opposite – I know you too well, and that is precisely why I must never trust you again.

"...I know I have said before that we ought to help her recover her memory as soon as possible," said Angela in a quivering voice, "but... I don't think so anymore."

"So what is it, in your opinion, that we should do?" asked her father in a blank voice.

It took all her courage to look him in the eye and whisper:

"Leave things as they are."

And when he said nothing, merely looked at her expectantly, she added:

"I think she had had enough suffering to last a lifetime. She deserves to be in peace now. And... and she could stay with us."

His expression softened as he replied:

"Angela, you do understand that however you look at it, it is impossible. And it isn't up to us to decide."

"But it might happen anyway, you can't deny this," Angela said quietly, "with all due respect to David, that's no car crash memory loss. It was a powerful spell that backfired. Perhaps there is really nothing we can do."

"Then it will be worse," said Goliath, "because she is notoriously well-known... in some circles she has had the misfortune to associate herself with. The truth will reach her sooner or later. And if what you are suggesting comes to pass," he added as an afterthought, "you won't ever be able to tell her she is your mother."

As much as he feared the returned of her memory, and sometimes wished to postpone it, he could not live with the thought that it will never happen. He could not abide the idea of remaining, forever, the only carrier of the memories the two of them shared. Damn it, it isn't fair he should be the only one!

"She can be my mother if she is your wife," Angela's voice was barely audible, and it took him a split second to register what she had said. Abruptly, he turned his back on her and uttered through gritted teeth:

"I thought I had told you to _never_ – bring – this – up – again."

"We have all seen how you look at each other," Angela breathed out, "I don't know who you think you are trying to -"

He spun around and faced her, and his face was contorted with pain anger. Angela stepped back, shaking her head.

"Father, I didn't mean – I'm sorry..."

"Whatever you might have been imagining," he cut her off, "it is out of the question. It can never happen! Never!"

He looked menacing, but Angela simply felt so terrible for him that her eyes filled with tears and she didn't retort. But he couldn't stop.

"You simply have no idea, do you? You think it's all interesting – exciting – but _this isn't a game! _We can't just pretend nothing ever happened!"

"No, of course -"

"_She_ thought otherwise!" he bellowed, "She thought she could manipulate living beings and predict their moves as though it was a game of chess! And look where it led us all! Dead, gone, broken – or worse..." he choked.

"I really shouldn't have said -"

"It doesn't matter," he said in a tone of deadly calm, "I will not battle fate anymore. It took quite a lot to hammer this lesson into my head, but I have learned it well."

Angela felt very sorry for him, but she couldn't resist it. As she prepared to walk away, she turned around.

"Well, in that case," she blurted out, "you'd better quit letting her lean on your shoulder each night as the two of you stand on the terrace and watch the rising moon!"


	10. Borders of time

He was going to take her to the place which, as he said, was going to help her remember if nothing else would. She agreed. She was intrigued, of course, but even more than that she couldn't fathom refusing to go anywhere with him, in particular when they were to be alone.

From observing him, she knew now he wanted her as badly as she wanted him, but something was preventing him from taking the step. What was it? An old wound? The trace of an agony? She didn't know; she knew, however, that if there is anything at all she can do to overcome it, she would.

Surely the old pain could slowly die away once he learned how much she was willing to give if he would only reach out and take it?

His devotion to his old love caused her to be jealous, but more than that, she admired him for it. Only someone of his heart, she realized, could be worth of everything she felt for him.

"...I am going to take her to Wyvern," announced Goliath.

"We _are_ in Wyvern," Brooklyn pointed out the thick stone castle walls, lined with ancient tapestries that had been carefully restored by David Xanatos.

"To Wyvern wood," explained Goliath, "our old home in Scotland. The castle remains no longer, but all the familiar places are there – and some of them are bound to look the same, ever after a thousand years. I believe it might help her remember."

"And how are you going to get there, glide across the ocean in one night?" Hudson asked sarcastically.

"Book two airplane tickets?" suggested Mary, haunted by a vision of two gargoyles awakening with a roar from their daytime slumber and showering the stunned air-travelers with bits of stone skin.

"I will use the Phoenix Gate," explained Goliath. Elisa covered her mouth with her hand.

"But you said you would never use it again!"

"Not to travel in time," said Goliath, "only through space. It is the most reliable way."

"Oh, Goliath, please be careful," moaned Elisa, "you know how hard she had tried to get her hands on that Gate last time."

"I will keep this in mind," he assured.

"...You are shivering," he noted with concern.

"The winds – the seaside winds are very cold."

"Oh – oh yes," he regained his senses, "it can get cold here, even for our kind. Are you cold?"

"Yes," she smiled coyly at him, "not to mention hungry. We took no meal before coming here."

"Not to worry," he told her, "I'm sure we can catch something in the forest, and we'll start a fire in no time."

She was an excellent huntress, and quite soon, they had caught a couple of birds and were cooking them on a fire Goliath had started in the very same cave that had once been one of their refuges, the seaside cave from which, he surmised, she saw the beginning of the Viking attack on castle Wyvern.

All this she was not aware of now, however. She sat close to the fire, feeding it and turning the roast fowl over from time to time, watching with awe how Goliath picked some of the thickest logs out of the pile of driftwood he had collected and broke them in pieces with his mighty hands, seemingly without effort. The appreciation in her eyes made him feel like he had as a young lad, when he shifted rock and swiped at brambles for her, whenever they hunted or foraged together.

After they had eaten their share of roast meat, she curled upon the soft sand the waves have carried onto the cave floor and propped herself up on her elbow. The fire was now burning lower, casting a warm, red, flickering glow, and for a moment, all was right with the world – it could simply have been one of their lonely hunts, a night they had snatched away from clan duties to be together. Fleetingly, Goliath felt at peace – until he remembered why he was here.

She, however, was oblivious to it. He had forgotten how seductive she could be without even trying.

"Goliath," she said, meaning to bring him out of his reverie.

He wished her voice wouldn't sound so much like a purr. He was flesh and bone, after all. God, if you have meant for me to resist this, why did you create moonlit nights, crushing waves, the warmth of leaping fire, the smell of wind blowing through salty pines? Why have you given me a live body, filled my heart with longing, and placed me next to the one who had made me feel like a pawn some times, a king at others?

"The way you brought me here," she sounded curious, "it looked like... like advanced magic."

"It is called the Phoenix Gate," Goliath said cautiously.

"Where did you get it from?"

Why, he said in his aching heart, you shared it with me all those years ago, my love – though you, too, were but a chance possessor of this tricky device.

"It... fell into my hands," he said evasively, "long story."

"You are full of stories, aren't you?" she smiled, "You told me, I remember, of a castle that had once stood here."

"Yes," said Goliath, "see that flat marsh right over the gulf? The castle used to stand there."

"I wish I could have seen it."

"But you have," despite himself, he smiled back, "it is the castle where my clan lives. The man I told you about, David Xanatos, transported it with great care, stone by stone, and reconstructed it just as it used to be."

Her eyes grew wide with astonishment.

"He transported a _castle_?" she sounded awed, "But how much money and effort it must have cost!"

"Apparently, he didn't mind either way," said Goliath, frowning.

"Well," she said, stretching like a cat and getting up, "this place doesn't need a castle to be enchanting."

"...Look around," he said in that low voice that sent shivers down her spine. His voice now reverberated strangely off the stone walls, ceiling and floor.

She looked. The moon was high in the sky above the troubled sea, clouds sometimes running over and obscuring it. Then his silhouette was almost lost in the dark. But more often, she could see him well, and when his eyes found hers there was a mute question in them.

A scene of a long gone past that had taken place in this very cave suddenly stood before Goliath's eyes, ache-filled in its vividness.

They had arranged to meet here. Three hours after moonrise, she said, and the darkness of the cave was blinding after the silvery glow of the full moon. He took a step further.

"My love?" he called uncertainly. "Are you there?"

"Right here," in a swirl of dark wings, she was suddenly quite close, and as his eyes adjusted to the weak light, he recognized a smile upon her face. "Have you spoken to the Leader?"

"I have," he said, "and you can guess what he said. We are too young, he cautioned, but he knows it would be futile to advise us to wait. Therefore, he would settle it sooner rather than later. He also added that, although his eyesight is not what it once was, he can see plainly what will happen if he withholds his consent for too long."

"There he is perfectly right," his beloved said in a husky voice, and as her hand slid down, he caught it and brought it to his lips instead."

"'Tis a dangerous game you are playing, my love," he cautioned.

"Why?" she snorted. "We are not humans. I'm not some fair and gentle maid you would," she rolled her eyes, "despoil. I am not a tender, innocent angel who – "

"But you are," he said very seriously, his eyes resting upon her face in a steady, tender, admiring, passionate gaze, "my Angel of the Night. The Leader knows how we feel, and – "

"The Leader thinks he knows every – _oh_."

In one abrupt motion, she was pressed so close to him that she didn't need to squeeze him through his loincloth to know he was hard. They were both on fire, and he could smell her heat. There was no finer sensation in the world.

"Next time the moon rises," he said, breathing into her neck, "our union will be proclaimed in front of the entire clan."

"I shall be the envy of all our young lasses," she meant to sound playful, but a shuddering moan escaped her lips as she attempted to disentangle herself, and failed. "My love, if you mean to stop, do so now."

"I will," he said, releasing her from his embrace and holding her at arm's length, "for the last time, my Angel. Tomorrow night, all will know that I am yours and you are mine."

Having her scorn those memories and toss them away was bad enough, Goliath thought furiously. But he cannot stand that she should lose forever that which had been a part of them both. He cannot remain the sole bearer of their past.

"…It's a beautiful place," she said sincerely, "although it doesn't make me remember anything. But I don't think it makes much difference anymore."

"No?" he raised his voice slightly, "Weren't you tormented by the thoughts of your lost past and who you are?"

"The past," she said, stepping towards him, "is not as important as the future. And who I was does not matter nearly as much as whom I can be."

She took another step and placed both her palms on his chest, leaning into him, and her eyes looked at him softly and lovingly.

"I don't need to know a lot about you," she said, "to know you with my heart. Let me forget what I don't remember. There is an odd feeling in my heart about it, an ominous one. But I know that whatever might have been, it will not change how I feel about you. What does the past matter when tonight I can already become your wife?"

His soul was an anguished mix of agony and desire as he leaned in, kissing her, giving way to his timeless passion and her newfound one. He knew now that their love was timeless, boundless, that no matter where and when in space and time they would meet, an irresistible force would draw them together. What she offered was so tempting it was pure torture to refuse it. Close this box of Pandora. Bring her back. Take her for a wife, bask in her love and… hope this blissful amnesia would last forever.

"I knew you felt the same," she whispered in ecstasy between hungry kisses, "let us not wait any longer, my love. Isn't this good, now? Isn't this sweet?"

This time, she was determined to break through his wall of resistance, even though she didn't understand it. His body was sleek with sweat and there was a male odor about him that drove her mad with desire. And for the first time, she felt that he wanted her as badly as she wanted him.

He could barely breathe, with her tongue in his mouth and her hips pressing to the front of his loincloth. His hands were betraying him, steadily holding on to all the sweet curves he had half forgotten. Her body was smooth and warm as silk, her breath sweet on his face, her legs strong around his waist, but he found the strength to pull back. He wanted her so badly, he realized with a sadness that tore his heart apart, but he wanted his old love, the one who remembered him and all they shared together – however warped, twisted, broken and sick at heart they both may be after years apart.

She looked at him, bewildered, almost frightened at the hardness of his face.

"Why?" she whispered.

A scene reformed vividly in his mind – one of his most recent memories he had from castle Wyvern as he knew it in Scotland. Yes, he told himself, time was devilishly warped indeed, when it concerns them, if events of ten centuries ago seem to him as though a mere few years have passed.

He and his love were in their secret place in the forest, in its depths by the lake and stream, supposedly looking for trails of game, but in reality forgetful of all but the glory of basking in each other's presence. They lay upon the grass, holding on to one another, and her hair tickled his face. Over and over he ran his hands up and down the smoothness of her body, never ceasing to marvel at the softness of its contours, the silky delicacy of her skin, in comparison to which his own felt like leather hide. Yet she was also a fierce warrior, and when she went into one of her battle frenzies, her well-trained muscles and lightning-speed reflexes made her a match even for someone his size. He had not been biased by love when he made her his Second, he thought proudly. She really was the best of the clan.

All of a sudden, they both perked up at the unexpected sound of footsteps. Judging from the heavy clumsiness of them, the smell of cured leather and the clinging of swords and armor, two human warriors have wondered quite close to their secret haven. That was extremely strange. They were in the very heart of the forest, and not even hunters usually approached these spots, certainly not in the dead of night.

Then, an unfamiliar voice spoke:

"You sure it is safe to talk here?"

"Ar," a second man replied, and by the look his wife exchanged with him, Goliath realized that she, like him, had recognized the Captain of the castle guard. Not until after analyzing this situation much later, however, had he understood why she seemed so worried.

"What is your message?" asked the stranger. His voice was low and brutal, flavored with a pronunciation that made it rather difficult to understand what he was saying.

"Everything will be ready in a fortnight," said the Captain.

"Surely?"

"Yes. We have it all thought out. Now, the terms..."

"I take no terms," interrupted the stranger, "you'll have to speak of it with my chieftain."

"Very well," curtly replied the Captain, and the two men parted: the Captain's footsteps, which were heavier, retraced their path back towards the castle, while the stranger's got further and further away from it.

Only when all sound of movement completely died in the stillness of night, did the two gargoyles finally dare to exhale.

"That was..." said Goliath, straightening up and buckling his belt, "are you thinking what I am thinking?"

"What, my love?" asked his Angel, fumbling with the halter top which she tied around her chest and wings. Back then, he had attributed the trembling of her fingers to the embarrassment they had so nearly escaped, almost being walked in on.

"That man," frowned Goliath, "his accent... he sounded like a Norseman."

"Well, you do know there is a Viking camp set up nearby," said Demona, "their demands are getting more ridiculous with each year that goes by. Perhaps he came here to negotiate."

"It didn't sound that way," Goliath was suspicious, "and why here? Why not send an envoy to the castle? Prince Malcolm is a man of honor, he would never hurt a messenger who came with terms of peace."

"It does seem strange," conceded his wife, "but perhaps there are reasons of which we are not aware."

"Still, I say we should go straight to the Prince, to be safe."

"No!" she said sharply, and when she saw the surprised look in his eyes, hastened to amend, "it will look as though we have followed the Captain and eavesdropped on him. If he hears of it, he will be angry, and we all will get in trouble with him."

"I don't know," Goliath said gravely, contemplatively, "it is my duty, I think, as a protector of this castle..."

"My love, let us forget about words which clearly weren't meant for our ears," she begged, and when she noticed his doubt, she progressed to doing what she was so apt at: making all thoughts vanish from his head with a long, deep kiss.

Even now, the memory of that night made Goliath want to hit something in frustration and helpless rage. He was so close to finding out the truth and preventing the massacre. If only he hadn't listened to her, if only he went to speak to Prince Malcolm! The wise man would not have considered it beneath him to take advice from a gargoyle, he would have investigated the matter...

Of course, had she been caught red-handed in such treachery, she would be facing execution. Knowing her, however, Goliath was sure she would have gone into hiding. He would have gone with her, he thought fiercely. He would have renounced the clan leadership without a second thought, he would have left his home, he would have assumed the life of an outcast. Anything would have been preferable to what happened to them... to him... to her.

Two weeks after this encounter their world literally came crumbling down, and to add to the monstrosity of what had happened, to the slaying of their clan and the sacking of the castle coupled with murder, torture and enslavement of innocents, his unfortunate love had had to live with the immense horror of what her actions had caused bearing upon her, haunting her all these years.

No, he told himself sternly. He must not succumb to pitying her. While he could be fairly certain she hadn't meant for things to turn out the way they did, she collaborated with the Captain to put the castle they were sworn to protect at the mercy of the Viking sword, and that was bad enough.

He had often thought of what he could have done differently. Would it have changed anything if he had been more persistent, if he had pried more forcefully into what was occupying so much of his beloved's time? He had thought, for so long, that if he will only be patient, kind, trusting and generous enough, in the end she will open all of her heart to him.

Stop it, he thought firmly. It is victim's guilt. It was not your fault. For all you know, interrogating her would only have made her more evasive, put her on her guard even more.

If only she had confided in him!.. He would have considered it the height of dishonor to mistrust her, but she never trusted anyone, not really, not even him, her lover of many years. Perhaps because she knew he would have put a stop to her plan right away, and was determined to carry it through. Perhaps, he thought, she wasn't content with being merely a Second in command under his leadership. Perhaps she hoped to rise higher than this under the new rule, as she eventually did with Macbeth.

After all, angel she was not. Hadn't he known all along that she was exceedingly ambitious, proud, secretive – oh, all her frequent visits to the Archmage's laboratory, which he woefully turned a blind eye on! - power-seeking, mistrustful, easily offended?

Other words rang bitterly in his ears: traitorous, corrupt, two-faced, back-stabbing... or was she? Was she always? Had he been so deceived in her from the start?

She didn't betray for power or gain back then, Goliath reminded himself. She did it to save the clan. To this goal she pledged all her loyalty, to do it she felt justified to use any means.

For twenty years, her shoulders had been weighed by a dark prophecy. This, too, she never told him about. Alone, with no one's judgment to counter-balance and guide hers, she stumbled in the loops of time and tragically brought upon herself just what she had always feared the most.

All her suffering was self-inflicted, her enemies self-made. If she hadn't taken out her whimsical anger on that unfortunate Scottish boy, she wouldn't have created the first Hunter and a thousand-year-old blood-stained vendetta. If she hadn't betrayed Macbeth, she wouldn't have made herself a rival to match even her in his desire for revenge. If she hadn't taken Thailog under her tutelage, she wouldn't have created the monster that shattered her to pieces a few weeks ago, almost obliterating her will to live.

She had learned that the consequences of one's actions are not always possible to predict, but that important lesson was acquired at too high a price.


	11. Her true self

"Come," he told her, his voice hollow and his gaze scalding, "I will take you to the forest."

It was her special place. It was where she came to bathe alone on moonlit nights, and feel free and young and beautiful. It was where her beauty brought him and where they shared many a night together. It was where she plucked wild honey and he tasted its sweetness on her tongue.

He stopped behind the bushes, right where the faint tinkling of the water streaming into the lake could just be heard.

"Aren't you going with me?" she lifted her gaze up to him, searching his eyes for a sign, yet he looked away.

"No," he shook his head, "you go. This is your place. Your life. Your memory."

"Who are you, Goliath? Who are we to each other?" she asked for a final time, but he simply shook his head.

"Go," he whispered.

When he stepped forward half an hour later, she was on her knees and her face was buried in her hands. Upon hearing his steps, she lifted her face and looked at him. Her eyes were dry, but feverishly bright, and seemed almost too big for her face.

"The spell," she said, "the spell backfired. I should have taken precautions against that."

He looked at her without saying anything, and knew that both of them were thinking about the same thing – the words of love and the passionate embraces she so lavishly bestowed upon him a mere hour ago. He was glad now he had said so little in the way of emotions that could now be used against him, to taunt and humiliate him.

"Thank you," she finally said, grudgingly, through gritted teeth. She got up from her knees, brushing the twigs off her robes.

"For what?" he asked.

"For being the impeccably decent, morally sound, stalwart leader that you are," she replied bitterly.

Both knew full well that if only he had been less resistant and less scrupulous, they would still be in that cave and she would be giving him all the wild honey she had accumulated throughout the years.

"Why?" she asked. "Why allow this to happen? Did you want to see me become your enemy again?"

He gave her a long, piercing look.

"My enemy?" he asked quietly. "Are you really?"

She averted her eyes. No, she supposed they didn't fit this definition anymore, after saving each other's lives in a matter of weeks. But if they weren't enemies, what were they?

When she thought about it, she didn't understand why she ever hated him anyway. It was her own guilty rage that was eating her alive, but there was no way she would admit that now… was there?

"I have not told you this before," said Goliath, "but when I... found Thailog, I had managed to make him tell me what your rift was about."

A wary expression flickered in her black eyes.

"He was a petty criminal," she said dully, "an illegal weapon trader, with human greed and human principles."

"He wanted to get me and my clan out of the way for good," continued Goliath, "he wanted you to get to the castle during the day, in your human form, and smash us to dust in our sleep, sparing, he conceded, only Angela. You refused. He decided he can no longer count on your alliance, nor did he think he would need you any longer. There," he added, "now you know I know it."

Her eyes glowed bright red, then were extinguished, hollow, with shadows visible underneath them.

"In the way he was indoctrinated, Thailog was no true gargoyle," she said, "he had no clue about the ways of our kind. He could not grasp why I would never do what the Vikings had once done here," she looked towards the place where the castle had stood all those years ago, "even to a clan that is no longer mine. So," her lips twitched in a bitter smile, "it looks like you have finally won, Goliath. I no longer pose a danger to you and your clan."

No danger, he repeated in his mind. But what else would he call the poison coursing once more through his veins? Vividly, uncalled, flashes of recent memory sprang to his brain: her eyes, glowing with admiration as she read his poetry, for which she now had the key... her soft hands, lovingly caressing his face, her lips touching his on the night of the Equinox... her passionate words, the ardor of their embraces, and the resistance he had so heroically upheld until the very last. And her promise that still rang in his ears: _"whatever might have been, it will not change how I feel about you"_... well, that was just another falsehood, wasn't it? Now the expression of her face was hard, awkward and defiant at once, and he knew better than to remind her of what she had just so carelessly vowed.

In this brief spell of her memory loss, he had had the chance to glimpse a possibility of a different life, to see what his love could have been like without the burden of past tragedy. But our memories and experiences form an undeniable part of who we are, he realized. The past had changed them, and it was now part of them. To pretend otherwise would be futile.

"I have lingered too long, Goliath," she said, "I'm leaving."

"Don't expect me to hold you back," he rumbled, "but you know very well that if you just wander off here, it would be the most foolish thing you could do. And you can't leave without seeing Angela. She has suffered too much disappointment from you already."

"Very well," she whispered, inclining her head, "I will go back with you, say goodbye to Angela, and then leave."

"Very well," he repeated, "and on your head be it."


	12. Lamentations

As they appeared on the castle terrace, Demona stared at the Phoenix Gate Goliath was still holding in his hands, and he, remembering Elisa's warning, hurried to tuck it safely into the leather pouch hanging from his belt.

"I confess I don't understand you, Goliath," she said, "to have such a powerful device in your possession, and not even attempt to use it again, to move up or downstream in the flow of time..."

He noticed a definite trace of longing in her voice.

"You were the one who taught me that past is immutable," he pointed out.

That was true, she thought, yet if she could, she still would have tried to go back. There were so many "if onlys"; if only she had never participated in the plot of the Captain and the Vikings; if only she had led the clan away for that unfortunate day...

If only she had revealed herself to Goliath as he awoke to the scene of destruction, instead of fleeing in shame...

If only she had spent the past thousand years frozen in stone by the side of the other survivors, instead of living in loneliness, inflicting further torture on her soul by unquenchable thirst for vengeance...

If only she had had the courage to meet death right then and there, crushed by a Viking's war hammer with her brothers and sisters, instead of condemning herself to a lifetime of shame.

She realized she was struggling painfully to catch her breath. Grief had softened the harsh expression of her eyes, grief has pushed aside the desire for revenge.

"If you had the Phoenix Gate," Goliath said slowly, "where would you go?"

The words tumbled down from her lips before she had the chance to restrain herself:

"I would go back to Wyvern. To the time before I was visited by the future selves of you and me. Not to change anything," she added, "but simply to look. To see the clan – them all – young and whole and happy, innocent in their trust of the future."

Slowly, thinking in the back of his mind that he is being utterly foolish, he reached into his pouch and pulled the Phoenix Gate back out. Holding it in his outstretched palm, he offered it to her.

"Go, then," he said, but she folded her arms and looked away.

"No," she shook her head, "I'm afraid that if I do, I will never summon the strength to come back again."

Afterwards, she slipped back away to her chambers and he entered the common room alone. Everyone were assembled there, waiting for his return.

"Well?" prompted Liz.

"Did it work, lad?" asked Hudson.

Instead of answering, he turned to Angela.

"Your mother wants to speak to you," he said. Angela's hand flew to her mouth, her eyes widening in understanding. Without a word, she turned on her heel and left.

"So it did work," concluded Brooklyn, "didn't it?" he added uncertainly as he looked at Goliath's face, which was full of shadows. The leader ran a hand over his eyes, a gesture of tiredness they had rarely seen in him.

"Yes," he finally said, "it did."

"Are you well, lad?" Hudson sounded concerned. Goliath met his eyes, doing his best to look composed.

"Yes," he lied. In truth, he had not been well for a long time, and he knew it.

Nodding curtly to the others, he got up from his seat and proceeded to his favorite refuge, the library. There, he allowed himself to lean back against a stone wall which, it seemed, radiated cold.

Confess it, he mocked himself. You had expected something different, didn't you? Perhaps you thought that, once her memory rushes forth, she will fall upon her knees and tearfully beg forgiveness for all her sins? Did you picture yourself as the epitome of kindness and greatness of heart, lifting her up to her feet and handing her a handkerchief? Or did you imagine yourself folding your arms haughtily and coldly saying, "too late"?

Did you, perchance, forget who she is?

Did you think she would ever stop being Demona?

Are you sure it was she, not you, who lost her memory? What a fool you are. What a wretched fool.

He closed his eyes, unable to block the smell of lemongrass she had twined into his Equinox wreath. Unbidden, the ethereal words of the song they had danced to that night came to his mind:

_Say my name, remember who I am_

_You will find me in the world of yesterday_

_I cross the borders of time,_

_Leaving today behind_

_To be with you again._

His heart ached with renewed loss. He wanted to come to the others again, dispel their suspicions, show that he doesn't really care. He wanted to smack himself on the head with something heavy for the foolish weakness he had shown.

And above all, like her, he was tempted to take the Phoenix Gate and let himself be lost in the currents of time forever.

...Angela approached her mother timidly.

"Come," said Demona, "you have nothing to worry about. Everything is back to normal now," she added, but her words rang hollow.

"So you... you aren't mad at me for not telling you the truth?"

"No," replied her mother, "I thank you for trying not to let me run amok. Not that it worked," she said sardonically, "but you did your best."

"You didn't run amok!" protested Angela, "you just... just..."

"Forgot who I was," finished Demona, "well, I suppose you all found it very... entertaining."

"We didn't!" Angela looked horror-struck, "I just didn't know what would be the best way to – to act around you. I..."

"No matter," said Demona, "this is all over and done with."

"So... did you go to Wyvern?" Angela grasped for a change of subject.

"Yes."

"I have always wanted to see the place. I had been there as an egg, after all."

"Perhaps one day you shall go there."

"And then... when you were there, what happened?"

Her mother looked at her sharply.

"What do you mean?"

She could hardly say, of course, _"I did my best to seduce your father, but he, like the prig he is, insisted showing moral fiber."_

"I... that is, I only wondered what it was that happened to make you remember."

"Oh, - Demona paused, Gol – I went ahead and saw a certain place."

"What kind of place?" Angela asked curiously.

"Just a place," she replied, "a spot in the forest with no special meaning to anyone but... myself," color rushed into her cheeks as she concluded with a pointed omission of her former lover.

After Angela had gone, she dropped her face into her hands and moaned with an agony of humiliation. She had made such an appalling fool of herself! Someone ought to whack her repeatedly over the head with a blunt object for the idiotic carelessness of tasting the potion that was not meant for her. Goodness, she thought desperately, all the things she had said and did... it was like waking up from a very long sleep, only the dream was real and highly detailed, and each tidbit was excruciating to remember.

Her stalking Goliath all around the castle... and the night of Equinox – her crowning him with that wreath and dancing with him in front of everyone, and oh... that seaside cave – oh God... I said... and then I threw myself at him...

She felt both relieved and resentful for what followed – sure, the events of the past two weeks were going to be difficult enough to live down, even without memories of mind-blowing sex with the enemy who had been unwillingly turned into her protector... but... that had been the first time he was able to resist her.

Not that he hadn't been tempted, she thought wickedly. She had made sure of that. But it's just that he was so – she rolled her eyes – so _decent_... his damn moral superiority was sometimes so annoying.

But embarrassment isn't the worst part, is it? What really torments your soul is that you had seen him, briefly, without looking through the prism of bitterness, anger and disappointment. And what you saw was love, passionate and pure like all those years ago. The love that was sacrificed in the flames of a confusing and treacherous magical device which made you stray from your rightful path forever.

"...So, she has her memory back now," said Liz, "why is she still here, then?"

"She can stay until Korian returns," said the leader, "her brother will want to see her after he learns what had been happening."

"Aye, I have been wondering where the lad had disappeared this time," nodded Hudson, "seems just staying with his clan ain't something he is willing to do."

"Well, Korian is doing something important, isn't he?" said Brooklyn, "Looking for more gargoyle clans, trying to make connections... there are too few of us here, we can't stay on our own forever. And if he did get friendly with other clans," added the Second with a smirk, "imagine all the possibilities..."

Hudson hid a smile in his beard. Korian had been known to try and woo just about every female in their clan, back in Wyvern. His approach, however, had been so flimsy that no one ever took him seriously.

Korian was also the blood brother of Demona. Traditionally, except to prevent incest, in gargoyle clans such connections were not generally recognized – but in the case of those two, it was so obvious no one attempted to hide it, least of all their parents. Korian and Demona had always been close, and resembled each other in looks as well as character, though of the two, Korian had the more reasonable approach.

"I'm not worried about him," Broadway pointed out, "but we can't know for sure when he comes back."


	13. New arrivals

However, just the night after that, they were surprised by the prompt return of Korian. While part of the clan, Korian didn't work with them on patrol duty, coming and going as he pleased, though his aid was always there for his brothers when he was asked to provide it. He was lithe-built and fiery-haired like Demona, with exceedingly handsome features of his elfish face. He was the only one who still maintained regular contact with her, though more often than not he, too, had no idea what she was up to.

Having him back was good. He did not, however, come alone. On the night of his return, they saw three silhouettes gliding alongside him in the sky, a large and two smaller ones. When they landed on the balcony, Korian theatrically gestured toward the newcomers.

"This," he said, "is our cousin Vidar, the leader of a Norwegian clan, and his two daughters, Aslaug and Ingvild."

"Have you been to Norway?" Elisa asked curiously, "How did you get there and back?"

"I know a captain of a cargo ship that is ready to turn a blind eye to a lot of things, in return for a certain sum," Korian grinned mischievously.

"You crossed the Atlantic in a _cargo ship_?.."

"Who in the name of heaven," hissed Goliath, taking Korian aside, "is this Vidar, and what are we supposed to make of him?"

"Lad," added the elder quietly, "I'm glad you're back, but I'm not sure this is the right time for guests."

Korian looked from one of them to the other, surprised.

"What do you mean, you two? The young ones will soon be of age. They will need brides, and as much as the three are fond of Angela, she can only choose one of them. Vidar's daughters are coming of age too, and there are no proper suitors for them in his clan. I thought it was a good idea to introduce them to our boys. In order to have future in this world, we must find mates and bring forth children. Or do you think that six males and one female is a good balance to a clan?"

"If that is the case," growled Goliath, losing his patience, "why didn't you start by finding a bride for yourself? You are about twice the age of the lads."

That much was true. Despite his many conquests, some of them scandalously spicy, and the trail of broken hearts left in his wake, Korian had yet to take a wife. He gave Goliath a wicked smile.

"Ah, my leader, when it comes to wives, we'd better not talk about me," he paused, "_or you."_

The Leader looked at him as though he had been struck, and said nothing.

"Your sister is here, lad," the elder said to Korian, finally rendering him silent.

When Korian was told what had happened, he was dumbstruck.

"That piece of shit," he said, hardly breathing with rage, "ah, how many times I had warned my sister that she will come to a bad end if she continues to work with him."

"You mean you knew something about this before, and didn't tell us?" Goliath demanded to know, a steely glint in his eye. Korian ignored this remark.

"It's a pity you couldn't contact me, Goliath. We would have finished him off together."

"There was no time," said the Leader, "and I wanted to do it myself. She is one of my charges, after all. Or at least, she used to be."

Korian locked gazes with him. "One of your charges?" he thought, "Brother, I may be a lot of things, but I'm not mentally deficient."

...When his sister saw him, a rare smile appeared on her face and they embraced.

"Brother," she said, "so good to see you."

"What is the meaning of this, you being here?" Korian asked as they talked.

"The meaning of this," she said, "is that Goliath didn't have enough backbone to just leave me to die or finish me off."

"So he brought you here."

"Yes."

"He could have walked away when he saw you, saying there was nobody inside and no one would have been any the wiser, right?"

"That's right."

"You know," said Korian after a pause, "that was pretty generous of him. Considering how last time you met, you were holding a bazooka and tried to hole him like Swiss cheese."

She snorted.

"I suppose so," and after a pause, "I hate it."

"If you switched places, you would have given him a kick in the ribs and walked out cackling, wouldn't you?"

She rolled her eyes. "Brother, you are stating the obvious," the gesture plainly said.

"You have always been an unscrupulous, evil little thing," said Korian, "all the years you have been on the run unsupervised only brought out that edge in you."

"I love you too, brother."

"I know," he smirked.

"You think I got what I deserved for associated with… with _them_… don't you?"

Korian contemplated this for a second.

"Perhaps not," he concurred, "but I can't deny I feel you got what was coming. They aren't just ordinary criminals, sis. They re-define the meaning of twisted evil creatures. And he was the worst. I would have been glad he's gone forever, even if this never happened. I would have got rid of him myself if I were here."

"But you weren't here. Goliath was. And he… he avenged me. I helped him, too. He nearly lost his sight forever. Well, he must have told you the story. We're even now."

She stared out of the window, lost for words. There was a lot more to the story, in fact, but she could think of nothing else she'd be able to confess to her brother. Neither she nor Goliath could bear to mention to anyone, least of all each other, what had nearly happened between them in the small seaside cave.

"But now my enemy is gone," she continued, "and I will be gone soon too."

"I hate to break this to you, sister," said Korian, taking a sip of his wine, "but he was not the only enemy you made. And now, if you don't plan on practicing your magic any longer…"

"I don't think I would be able, even if I wanted to," she shook her head.

"Then, as brilliant a warrior as you might be, it is no longer safe for you to be alone."

She gave her brother a miffed look, knowing and not wanting to admit he was right.

"You know I can't stay here. This is only temporary. I've been recuperating and… I'm getting to know Angela. We haven't had the chance to spend any considerable amount of time together before, and I… I must say I'm impressed with how she is turning out. We talk, we train together. But it will all be over soon. I meant to leave tonight. I would have left if you hadn't turned up."

"Where will you go, though?" frowned Korian. "What is it that you plan on doing now, anyway? Got another brilliant scheme of getting your ass even deeper into trouble?"

"For now," the witch said quietly, ignoring his sarcasm, "I simply intend to survive."

In reality, she had no idea where to go either. To be truthful, there was nowhere to go. In the past, it had seemed to her that being an outcast was a small price to pay for having her own way. Now, however, it seemed that her way was gone, and she was left groping in the darkness, alone. Always alone.

"...I feel sorry for my sister," Korian said to the elder later that night, as the two of them shared a cup of wine while the welcoming feast for the guests was being prepared, "she had tried to make of herself some kind of epically powerful witch, but deep inside, she's just a silly, power-greedy little wench who had had too much influence over Goliath, to the unfortunate consequences we all know. I wish she hadn't messed up so badly."

The elder sighed.

"Aye, lad," he said, "so do I."

"Anyway, I told her to be ready for the feast in an hour," added Korian.

The elder frowned.

"It might be queer, you know, lad. She cut herself off from this clan. Goliath only brought her here because he couldn't leave her to die like that. And the others, excluding Angela, have barely seen her in the weeks she has been here."

"Don't worry," said Korian, "I'll seat her with the guests."


	14. Starting over

It looked like the sitting arrangements were indeed made successfully; the lads were more than happy to sit together with the lasses and chat away, their enthusiasm more than making up for the language barrier (Aslaug and Ingvild weren't very good at understanding English, certainly not heavily flavored with Scottish accent). The one who looked happiest of all, however, was Vidar, who was seated next to Demona and soon engaged her in lively conversation.

"In Norway," he was telling, "we don't place our dwellings quite so close to humans. We are the patrons of a large area, but it's mainly forests and fjords, and few people. A very beautiful region, even though winters can be quite harsh up there. But the hunting is great, so there is always plenty of food for everyone, and in the right season, salmon is practically leaping into our hands."

All she had to do was smile and nod and ask a pointed question here and there. For the first time in a long time, she felt almost relaxed. It has been a while since anyone talked to her like that. It was as though she was suddenly placed in a small window of normality.

She didn't notice that the Leader was watching them out of the corner of his eye, while being seemingly absorbed with the slab of roast meat on his plate. He noticed how Vidar's eyes had lit up when he first saw her, and how they were sparkling now as he talked to her. The Norwegian could hardly be blamed, he thought. The years haven't made a dent in her loveliness. He had always admired the slender, yet lusciously curved contours of her body, her fiery hair and almond-shaped black eyes, the finely carved features of her face, the lithe, subtle way she moved. While he, with all his bulk, always had to be careful not to crush through clusters of bushes, she had the gift of stealthily appearing as if out of nowhere, silent as a shadow. Fierce and nimble like a wild cat, with her glowing eyes and flexed talons, she was terrifying in battle. It was not for nothing that she, of all the clan, was chosen as his Second back then.

On peaceful nights, though, she knew how to relax. She had that stream where she liked to go alone… and where he followed her once – and refused to follow again not long ago. The memory sent an unexpected rush of blood to his face, and he shook his head, attempting to brush it off.

He looked at his daughter, who was sitting with all the youths. Vidar's girls looked a lot like their father, tall and strong, with handsome, good-natured faces. Korian was right, it would be good for either of the lads and good for the clan to gain such a bride, thought Goliath. His Angela, on the other hand, was built along the lines of her mother – graceful, light on her feet, with lightning-speed reflexes and a fire that ignited in her eyes whenever she felt passionately about something. Despite her small stature, she was a promising young warrior and a beauty on the verge of blooming. The one she would choose for a husband will be lucky.

All of a sudden, he remembered the night she was conceived. The times were troubled then, and he, as the new Leader, had a lot of work on his hands, training the young warriors and making plans of the castle's defense should the enemies attack. There were often nights when he and his wife hardly saw or spoke to each other, apart from a few quickly exchanged words and a swift embrace full of longing. That one time, however, she approached him and said quietly:

"My love," she smoothed his hair backward, "you must make time tonight."

"Time?" he was bewildered, "What is special about tonight?"

"I'm fertile now," she whispered, the faintest outline of a smile playing on her lips, "I can feel it, I know it. My sweet, my handsome, I want to give you a child. A strong son like you, or a beautiful daughter. Someone else can take your duty tonight."

"I would put my Second," he grinned, "but that's you, my love."

But she already took hold of his palm and was leading him away.

"I made all the arrangements already," she whispered, "I told the others there are some tracks we must follow together. I think they are guessing the truth," she smirked, "but it makes no difference. You and I are one, and the hours are precious. Come, my love."

He didn't need much persuading. There was a thirst in him that could be quenched by nobody but her, and when he held her in his arms, it seemed that no night was long enough to satisfy the immensity of passion they felt for each other. He followed her away, to that lonesome stream in the midst of the woods, where the water was so invitingly clear and cool.

"My giant," she purred, undressing, "this time, you don't have to stay behind those bushes. They were never tall enough to hide you anyway."

For a few seconds, all he could do was gape at her, but his embarrassment was soon vanquished by the way she melted into him, her mouth opening under his. His tongue was tracing the secret spots of her body, her hands were unbuckling his belt, and then she pulled him there, into the water. They were standing in the lake, her arms around his massive neck, running her hands through his thicket of black hair. He hoisted her up, easily supporting her slender back, and she wrapped her legs around his waist, pressing close, letting him in.

"My sweet," she moaned, and he could contain himself no longer.

Later, the two of them lay on the grassy bank of the stream, wet and exhausted, their arms still tight around each other. His love turned her face toward him and smiled.

"It has happened," she said, "I can feel it. You and I have conceived a child."

And so they have.

"...So, Vidar," asked Korian, as they were sitting together on the second night of the Norwegians' stay. "Enjoying your time here?"

"Oh, yes," Vidar nodded vigorously. He was almost a head taller than Korian – as tall as Goliath, in fact, though not as broadly built. "We have found new friends, my daughters are over the moon with joy, and I..."

"Yes?" prompted Korian.

"I'm very happy I made the decision to join you and come here, Korian, very happy indeed. I had my doubts, I confess, but if I hadn't come, I wouldn't have met your clan... all of your clan," he added pointedly.

"Not all who are here are part of this clan," Korian said slyly, sensing the direction in which the wind was blowing, "my sister, for example, broke off a long time ago. But I'm glad you're having a pleasant stay," he added.

"Your sister and Goliath… they are not together anymore, are they?" asked the Norwegian after a moment's hesitation.

Korian eyed him carefully, remembering that Vidar had been a widower for many a year now.

"No," he said, thinking this was becoming very interesting, "they are not."

"...The moon is bright tonight," said Vidar, as they strolled in the castle gardens, "but not half as radiant as the beauty beside me."

She smiled coyly and tucked a strand of ruby red hair behind her ear.

"You are too gallant, Vidar. Do you always flatter your female acquaintances so?"

"This has nothing to do with flattery," he insisted, "quite plainly, it's true. I can't tell you how pleased I am we have met. I honestly think you're amazing. I have never met anyone like you before."

"You barely know me," she said, surprised.

"True," he readily admitted, "there are many mysteries surrounding you. I want to break through them. I want to get to know you. I want to know everything about you."

She shot him a quick glance.

"Are you sure?" She asked.

"I think I can guess what you mean," said Vidar, "I'm not a fool, you know. It's obvious you have not led the life typical to our kind. But there's so much more. For example, how did you fall out with your clan? From what Korian had said, I was able to gather it happened a while ago… he didn't expect to see you here while we were traveling. In fact, he was very reluctant to tell about you."

She hesitated for the briefest second.

"Have you ever heard," she paused, "of Demona?"

He didn't look surprised.

"So it's you, is it? I have heard of you, but just some phantasmagorical myths and delirious accusations. Some describe you as the epitome of evil, and upon meeting you, I find that extremely difficult to believe. You are strong-minded, sure. Willful, I can readily guess. Ambitious, it can be surmised. But I would not describe you in tones of black."

The story was long, and he was willing to hear her side of it, she knew. But suddenly, she felt too weary to talk. She just walked on, her head bowed, and said quietly:

"I made many mistakes, Vidar."

"Haven't we all?" He said encouragingly.

"Not every mistake is enough to make one cut ties with everything they ever held dear."

"Don't worry," he said, "you don't have to tell it all right away. But I just want to say one thing to you."

"Which thing?"

He paused.

"It's never too late to start all over again."

She looked at him, her expression questioning.

"Do you really think so?"

"Yes," he flashed a bright smile, "I do."

It's incredible how Angela is suggesting much the same thing, she thought. The time spent with her daughter had been one of her few true spots of light in this castle, a gift she wasn't sure she deserved. But now it was all going to be over soon.

"Are you really leaving?" her daughter's eyes sought hers, beseeching. It made her cringe to see the small child still hiding inside, craving the presence of the mother who had so abysmally failed her.

She heaved a sigh.

"Despite all that had happened to lead me here, I will be forever so grateful for having the chance to spend time with you. But I can't remain here any longer, trespassing upon your father's hospitality and sulking in the shadows of the castle like a ghost from an ill-remembered past. There is no excuse for me to stay here anymore. Not even for your sake."

"Where will you go?" asked Angela shrewdly. She got no reply. "I wish it didn't have to be like this," she finally added, sadness spilled upon her young features.

_"So do I"_, her mother wanted to say, but remained silent.

"We can still try and see each other, my daughter," she said quietly, "if you would like that."

"Yes," said Angela, "I would like that very much."

...She felt quite comfortable, sitting on the rug in front of the fire in the company of only Vidar, her daughter, and his daughters. Everybody else was on duty; the five of them were sipping wine, and Vidar was strumming a lute, not taking his eyes off her.

"One more time, please," he asked.

"I do not see what it is about this human song that enthralls you so, Vidar," she noted slyly, "don't we have many fine pieces of our own folk?"

"I love to hear it sung in your voice," he said ardently, "it is... mesmerizing. Please, go on."

"Alright," she shifted to find a more comfortable position on the soft rug, "can you strike a slower tune?"

And so, accompanied by his lute, she sang:

_A fig for his riches, his merchandise and gold_

_True love has grafted my heart, give me my sailor bold_

"Isn't it funny," she mused, when the sounds of the lute had finally died down, "how in the eyes of humans, a disdain for gold is already considered a supreme, almost unthinkable virtue? How petty, isn't it?"

"You cannot deny gold makes this world go round," Vidar noted reasonably.

"I have gold," she said without boasting, "but not greed."

"It is easy not to yearn for riches when you have them," he smiled.

"I never longed for money," she countered, "to me, it has always been a means to an end."

"You see everything as a means to an end," he remarked with a twinkle in his eye, "or almost everything, anyway. This is one of the things I admire about you."

She smiled. She liked those witty, meaning-packed dialogues they had together. His courtesy, his obvious infatuation and his constant closeness were like balm to her wounds of bitter, age-old loneliness. For moments, he nearly made her forget all the hurtful past. She felt sorry it would all have to come to an end so soon.


	15. The proposal

She decided to disappear on the night they were to say farewell to the Norwegian guests. On the night before it, Korian stepped up to her, striding quickly and quietly and looking thoroughly pleased by something.

"Well, sister," he announced, "I'm not sure whether you were expecting this, but I have some mighty interesting news."

"I know," she replied, "they are trying to keep it a secret, but a betrothal is to be announced tomorrow night. It seems Aslaug has finally made up her mind."

"Oh, that, yes," he waved her off, "but that's not all. From what I know, there might be _two_ betrothals tomorrow!"

She looked up at him in surprise.

"Two betrothals? But Vidar said that Ingvild…"

"Not the girl, my dear sister," Korian said, his eyes sparkling. "I know for a fact that tomorrow night, before our guests are due to leave, Vidar is going to ask you to come with him. Isn't that remarkable? "

She looked at Korian, stunned. She wasn't sure whether she ought to be surprised by what he had just told, or by the fact that she hadn't considered the possibility yet. It was true that Vidar has virtually become her shadow over the past fortnight. They often strolled together, ate together, glided together, talked about a great many things. She enjoyed his company, more so than she could say about anyone else for years. But then, for years, she had been so alone…

"Well?" Her brother pressed, "It appears you are not as bankrupt as we thought, sister. Wouldn't that be just perfect? A fresh new start for you. An opportunity to forget about all the folly of the past years. Vidar is undoubtedly smitten, and will do anything for you. You two can make a great couple. You won't be alone and clanless anymore. And I'll just let you in on another secret," he lowered his voice almost to a whisper, "I intend to come to Norway for a while too. Vidar had told me he has a younger sister who had found her mate in another clan but was widowed a couple of years back. Apparently, she is desperate for someone to take her to wife and seed her womb, and it looks like I might just be up to the task."

"You, Korian?" she glanced up at him, now truly flabbergasted. "Are you telling me you are seriously considering marriage?"

"Why not?" he shrugged. "It has to happen sometime. I'm tired of casual conquests. And Vidar's sister sounds like she just might be the one for me – lovely, strong, fertile, level-headed… and with some experience, too. Pardon me, but at this stage I can't imagine taking a trembling, fumbling virgin to wife."

The shadow of a smile flickered on Demona's lips. She then tried to process what he had told her earlier. Korian was right. This was a perfect, miraculous opportunity to start over, probably the only one she will ever have.

She had attempted to imagine Vidar, with his tall strong body and handsome face, towering over her. She tried to imagine him kissing her, her undressing in front of him and allowing him to touch her, to push her legs apart and thrust his flesh into hers. She wasn't exactly repulsed by the picture… but the concept was utterly laughable, and she couldn't help but let a small outburst of laughter escape her lips.

"What?" Korian looked confused, "What is so funny? And more to the point, what are you going to tell Vidar tomorrow night?"

Her gaze held his, serious again.

"I don't know," she honestly replied.

For a long second, Korian stared at her, a mixture of pity and contempt etched in every line of his face.

"You two," he finally said, "are the biggest pair of morons I have ever had the misfortune to come across."

"Me and Vidar?"

"You know perfectly well whom I mean," he snapped before turning around and leaving.

Yes. She knew and he knew she knew, but she would rather cut out her tongue than say the words aloud.

"...My cousin," Vidar tailed him just as dawn was about to creep over the city buildings, "may I have a word?"

"Of course," said the Leader, and together they started down the long, winding corridor leading away from the steam baths they both used that night.

"You do know my daughter, Aslaug, has made her choice and it seems we have a match."

"Yes," the Leader nodded, "I must say I am most pleased. The lad is very happy. They are going to make a good couple."

"Aslaug is coming with me to Norway for the time being, but the betrothal, I estimate, is more or less settled. She will be back soon."

"You need not worry," the Leader assured him, "we will care for her as if she were our own daughter."

"I am certain of that." Vidar paused, searching for the right words. "My cousin, I believe Aslaug is not the only one to have found her destiny within the walls of this castle."

The Leader looked at him, waiting for him to continue.

"You know I have been widowed for many years now," Vidar continued, "and you know our kind do not easily find a new mate."

Goliath nodded. He knew it perhaps best of all.

"I have been alone for many years. But now I think I have found her."

And still, the Leader remained silent. He was not going to make it any easier.

"Demona..." Vidar finally said, "my cousin, I do so wish to find the right words to say this, without making any offense and causing a bitter rift between us. I would never look at another's wife. But I know you and she have drifted apart a long time ago. Might I ask if you are willing to renounce your rights on her? Is she free, or is she not?"

As usual, the Leader's face was unfathomable, unreadable. For a moment, he stood in silence, gathering his thoughts. He looked at Vidar, appraising him. The expression on his cousin's face was pained and earnest.

"One word from you," said Vidar, "and I will never speak to her, nor raise this matter again. I would never be dishonest with you."

"Demona belongs to this clan no longer," Goliath finally said, "nor to me." He added after a pause. "She cast off my authority and broke the bond we had. Whatever claims I might have had over her, I have renounced a long time ago. She is free to do as she pleases and go with whomever she wants. I have not a say in the matter."

Vidar looked at him for a long moment. This was the answer he expected, the answer he wanted to hear, yet he was astonished at the tone of the Leader's voice. His words were coated with a thin veil of indifference, yet the anger and pain underneath were impossible to miss.

"Now excuse me, cousin," said the Leader, sweeping away. "I still have a thing or two to attend to before dawn."

Goliath disappeared behind the heavy door of the library, where many among the thousands of dusty volumes bore the marks of his claws when he gripped the books in his excitement of discovery. Reading was one of his passions, as unusual as it might have seemed at first glance at him.

Now, however, he didn't come to read, but for a short respite, a place to gather his thoughts before dawn.

So this was how it was going to end. In a way unexpected, yet positive for everyone involved. He knew he ought to feel pleased at the thought of her soon being far off and away; he reasoned with himself, trying to strangle the irrational upsurge of pain clawing at his heart. Time and time again, he had told himself that it was pathetic and humiliating to lust after the one who had lied to him, deceived and manipulated him, betrayed him, betrayed them all, mocked him, cast him and their love away, and on top of it all, tried to kill him. More than once.

He could not, he would not let himself be sucked once more into this whirlpool of torture, madness, lust, and dependence on the whims of the one who has always been about as predictable as a forest fire.

And yet, he remembered with a flush of shame, even as he ducked the fire of her bazooka and crushed it with his steely claws, he had to resist the tide of arousal threatening to sweep over him when he pinned her down to the floor. The temptation to yank her clothes off and just have her then and there, it seemed, was always present.

Now it was finally going to be over. And it was all for the best, he told himself.

Often, he wished he could find someone else. There have been offers made for him in the past years. Females, far younger than him, beautiful and fertile. And there was Liz. Liz, whose admiring eyes have become narrowed with jealousy in the last few weeks. She was beautiful and brave. But then again, he could not offer her to share his solitude. His kind could not make a match with humans.

In the bottom line, there could never be anyone to replace his wife. She was like a book he could never stop reading, while all the rest were books whose cover he couldn't ever force himself to split. She was ice and fire, she was a gushing stream; next to her, any other would seem like a pool of insipid water.

How would he get her out of his system? She was more than just under his skin; she was blood coursing through his veins, she was flesh of his flesh and soul of his soul. The bond that had once brought them together could never be erased; nor could it ever be shared with another.

That, anyway, was how things were for him.

The night after, watching how Demona and Vidar sat together at the feast, the Leader wondered whether the elder had been right. Was he really too soft with her? He was blinded by love, he knew. On the occasions when he tried to win her back, he forgot about his scruples, his principles. He was a toy in her hands for far too long. He didn't see her ways, didn't see the dangerous alliances she had made, the way she dabbed in Dark magic. The same unrelenting questions pounded his brain: if he had seen it all, and tried to stop it, would it make any difference? Would she have listened to him? Could he have prevented the downfall of their clan, the destruction of their love? Could he have brought her back while it was still not too late?

Could he have prevented the rape and bloodshed of a few weeks ago?

He didn't know.

He couldn't know.

All he knew was that it was too late now. He did his duty for her in her time of weakness and despair, and now the logical path for her was healing. What would he do? Get up from his place, walk over to them, take Vidar by the scruff of his neck, throw him aside and beg her to stay? The prospect was unfathomable. He had endured enough of her mockery. His advances had been rejected often enough.

No one could deny she looked lovely that night. It seemed as though the nightmare was slowly beginning to be pushed back by time. Her wing was healed, her bruises were gone, there was a smile playing on her lips, and for a change, there was no malice in it. Quite simply, it looked as though she was enjoying herself. She was wearing a light blue long tunic that accentuated the color of her skin, and her red hair was tied back with a golden ribbon.

"What is this music?" the Leader asked his daughter, frowning.

"Don't you like it, Father?" Angela asked brightly. "I thought it would be fitting to the occasion of the betrothal. It's romantic, isn't it?"

Romantic? He would say it's a step further. The words of the human singer, once sung aloud, sounded almost obscene in a room full of chatter, dancing, and the clatter of plates and goblets.

"He sounds as though he's having his cock fondled as he sings," Korian remarked conversationally. Angela and Ingvild rewarded him with a series of shocked giggles. The Leader continued to stare ahead of him, frowning. The song, as unwilling as he was to let it, was drilling into his head.

_The moonlight plays upon your skin__  
><em>_A kiss that lingers takes me in…_

Words such as these aren't meant to be sung to a crowd. If anything, they ought to be shared in whispers in a secluded corner.

He wished the night was over and done with.

All he could do was watch out of the corner of his eye how Vidar bowed to her and took her by the hand to the dance area in front of the fireplace, how later he sat next to her and poured her a cup of honeyed wine, how he leaned in to whisper something in her ear, how she nodded and they slipped out of the dining hall together, leaving the betrothal festivities behind.

Soon, Goliath thought, they would be back, and the festivities would double.

He poured himself more mead and continued brooding in silence.

Quite plainly, she was the bane of his life. It was because of her that he had lost his home, his clan and the world as he knew it – not to mention his common sense, which flew out of the window whenever she gave him one sultry look from underneath those long black eyelashes of hers, or whenever he saw her walking towards him with that seductive sway of her hips. He had simply lost his head. There was no other way to satisfactorily account for his stubborn blindness to her long-time scheming with enemies and meddling with sorcery.

The upsurge of fury he felt every time he thought of her had more than a fair basis. All she had done, her open lack of regret about it, coupled with his pangs of wounded pride and rejected love, made for a bubbling brew of anger. And yet... she played an undeniable role in who he had become, for better as well as for worse, he couldn't close his eyes to that either. He wouldn't have been shaped into the leader he was now, if it weren't for her faith in him, her ardent encouragement, her daring, her prodding him in the direction of reckless – but oh so splendid – bravery.

It was not he who made himself her enemy; she had decided to mark him as such, when he refused to go along with her bloodlusty, megalomaniac schemes to destroy the entire human race. She took care to cross paths with him, and whenever it happened, a clash inevitably followed, adding to the host of bitter accusations against her in his heart.

However, all of this did very poorly to explain why he felt as though his oxygen supply was cut off, why he was unable to breathe from pain, each time he thought of what happened to her in the recent past, and what was happening to her now. The torture his evil clone put her through was cruel enough; but now there was something else, he knew it. During this forced hiatus in a safehouse with a clan that was hers no more, she could no longer escape a truthful evaluation of what she had done. He felt this was coming, perhaps for years, but instead of bringing him satisfaction, he could almost physically feel the immense weight of guilt crushing her, burying her under the ruins of their life, and despite everything, despite all she had done, he knew he would give up almost anything to spare her this suffering.

Anything but the truth, he reminded himself. The truth was what made them who they were; that was precisely why he wouldn't keep her from gaining her memory back.

She had to know who she was, and who he was, and who they had once been to each other. This he was certain of, even though he didn't have all the answers. Far from it. He didn't know, for instance, what he would do if she offered herself to him once more. He couldn't be at all sure he would have the necessary willpower and presence of mind to spurn her as she had spurned him, more than once. Neither could he be sure that he would ever, in all honesty, extract from his lips the two simple words: "I forgive."

...In one of the empty torchlit corridors adjoining the dining hall, Demona faced Vidar, calmly waiting for what she knew he was going to say. He had asked for a private word, and now she was looking up at his handsome, good-natured face. For a long, long time, she had not seen what lit up in his eyes when they were cast upon her.

"My lady," he began without further ado, "I'm not very good at this, but tonight we are due to depart. It can be postponed no longer. These past few weeks of being here, of getting to know you, they… they were like a dream."

"I am very glad to have met you too, Vidar," Demona said earnestly, "it has been so long since I felt I have a friend. I will miss it."

"It doesn't have to end tonight," he lowered his voice, reaching out for her hand and squeezing it, "or at all. Come with me, and we can begin a new life together. Just give me a chance to win your heart, and I swear, you shall never regret it."

Demona felt a stab of pity for what had to happen, but at the same time, a burden rolled off her heart as clarity enveloped her like never before. She shook her head, sadly but very definitely.

"You have been very good to me," she said, "very kind. This is far more than I deserve, and I will never forget you. But what you are suggesting cannot be."

There was a question in his eyes, but he knew he wouldn't dare to ask. Still, she continued:

"My heart cannot be won. It can only be given away. Not even by me – it's beyond my control. You have known love before, so I presume you understand what I mean. I could never go with any but the one my heart yearns for," she paused, "even if it means I will be alone for the rest of my life. Do you understand?"

He nodded, swallowing his disappointment.

"I do, my lady," he said, and bent to briefly kiss her hand, "if anything, it makes me admire you even more."

"Goodbye, Vidar," said Demona, "I don't expect we shall ever see each other again."

"I will be back here at Midsummer, for Aslaug's wedding."

"I know," she sounded sad again, "but I don't think I will."

Goliath felt a hand on his shoulder and lifted his eyes from his goblet, staring up moodily. The one who approached him was Vidar, and to his surprise, he wasn't looking thrilled.

"My friend," he said, "my daughters and I are leaving tonight. We will be in touch about the wedding. Thank you for your hospitality. I look forward to meeting you again at Solstice."

He said nothing more, but proceeded to his place. Goliath looked after him, trying to register what he had said. The Norwegian spoke brightly, but there was a definite tinge of disappointment hidden in his voice, in the slumping of his shoulders as he now sat down at the table. It seemed as though he wanted to say more than he eventually did.

And Demona did not return with him.

It could only mean one thing.

Without stopping to think, Goliath got up and walked swiftly out of the dining hall. He knew she was planning to leave tonight. Where she would go still remained a mystery. _Perhaps she already left_, a thought illuminated his brain like lightning as he sped down corridors and out to terraces. He wasn't sure yet about what he was going to do or say, but he was determined to find her. Where would she spend her last remaining hours at the castle?

And then it dawned on him. The rooftop garden. Her ever favorite secluded refuge.

Sure enough, she was there, and from the looks of it she was about to take off. Her head was bowed down, as if in prayer, her hands clasped and twisted around something she then bent and left on the ground where it sparkled, reflecting the moonlight.

It was the amethyst ring.

"Wait," said Goliath, his voice low and hoarse. She turned around and froze. Her heart was wildly drumming in her ears, and like an eternity ago, she could neither move nor speak, even though all he said was a short and simple word.

"Are you leaving already?" He asked. "In the middle of the feast?"

"Yes," she said in a voice that didn't tremble, although he couldn't know what effort it had cost her, "I already said goodbye to Angela. I thought it would be best that way."

He paused, searching for the words. He was afraid to speak, but he had to know. _He had to know._

"Vidar is leaving tonight, too," he paused, "without you. Why?"

His last word came out almost in a whisper.

When her eyes found his, they were full of tears. He was startled. He had seldom, if ever, seen her cry. She might have been an excellent manipulator, but she was never good at feigning tears. There was too much steely hardness for that in her. In both of them, perhaps.

His eyes bore into hers, unrelenting. There was a pleading expression to her face, as if there was something she wanted him to know but didn't dare to say aloud. Finally, she looked away.

"Angela will know where to find me if she wants to see me," were her final words before she took off.

He looked after her long and hard, and knew beyond a doubt that she took his heart away with her.


	16. Alone

Mary thought she would have to stand in front of the door for a long time, and probably in vain. Yet her tentative knock was answered by a series of quick footsteps, a brief pause behind the keyhole, and a door flung open so abruptly that she stepped back.

"Hello," she said feebly.

"What on earth," Demona hissed suspiciously, "are _you_ doing here?"

"Can I come in?" Mary asked timidly, although she was not at all certain this was a good idea.

She was half sure the answer would be "no", but the gargoyle female stepped back, and she had no choice but to get inside, shivering, and wince as the door was slammed behind her. She then faced her unwilling protegee, who had her hands on her hips.

"I assume there's good reason for your visit," she said, tapping her foot impatiently, "_well?" _she prompted when Mary didn't answer.

"There's no need to get all worked up," Mary said in an effort to make peace, "I came here as a..."

"Friend?" Demona's eyes narrowed, "I am long done with any human friends, let alone risking my life for humans, as Goliath insists on doing still."

"I came here as a messenger," Mary went on calmly, "on Angela's behalf."

"Oh?" the sarcastic tones were gone, and Demona was all attention, "is my daughter well?"

"Perfectly," Mary assured her. "What is this place, anyway?" she dared to ask.

It struck her odd at first to find Demona in an ordinary apartment, but now she noticed it was not so ordinary after all. There were almost no walls, it was a big, open space; it was nearly empty, and had a dark, forlon look. Heavy, dusty bookshelves with enormous, ancient, mysterious-looking tomes lined the walls, and there was almost no furniture save for a long dark-wood table with an inch-thick layer of dust, a large, ornate silver mirror, and a vast bed which looked as though it had not been slept in for at least a decade. There were also a few cupboards, and Mary hoped they contain at least some food, because her ungracious hostess had a pinched, pale look, and seemed thinner than last time they met.

"It is one of my safehouses," Demona replied grudgingly, "not the most comfortable of them, but conveniently located in Manhattan. My favorite is in Mexico, and there I will be hopefully heading soon, traveling by night and hiding by day. So," she briskly continued, "do you have any message for me from Angela?"

"Yes," said Mary, "she is sorry for not being able to visit you yet, and hopes to come here before long. For understandable reasons, she does not wish it to be known she comes here, that's why she had not come earlier."

"Alright," nodded Demona with grim satisfaction, "I will wait until I see Angela before heading off. Thank you," she finished coolly, with a tone of finality that plainly hinted the audience was finished.

"Why did you leave?" Mary asked with a furrowed brow.

"You are quite impertinent," noted Demona, "it has been a while since a human dared to ask me questions."

"A pity," Mary said placidly. Now that she had survived the first couple of minutes in Demona's company, she was beginning to regain her confidence quite rapidly, "I find there is nothing like a couple of good questions from a caring person to make one aware of..."

"Aware of what?" the witch cut across her sharply, "And please don't try to be all understanding. You know nothing."

"I know enough to understand the enmity between you and the clan," countered Mary, "and frankly, I think you are here simply because you are afraid to show your face. So does Angela," she added, bracing herself to having her head bitten off.

To her surprise, Demona said nothing. She looked aside and deflated all at once. Then she looked at her once more, fixing her with a beady glance.

"You are sworn to protect, aren't you?" she asked abruptly.

"I – er," Mary grasped for holding her ground in this conversation, "well, yes, you could say that. I am a nurse, but I work for NYPD, but our job is – so, basically, yes, you're right."

"Well, then," Demona's eyes were burning, "consider you had reason to believe your family – your dearest ones – are in mortal danger, and you could save them by trading their lives for the lives of the humans you vowed to protect. What would you do?"

"I hope I will never have to face such a choice," answered Mary sincerely.

"But what would you do?" Demona didn't relent. "What would you choose? Isn't your first duty towards the ones closest to you? What could be rightly sacrificed in the name of saving them?"

"I – only hypothetically, of course," hesitated Mary, "but I think I would – I would – look for another way to save my family," she finished. To her surprise, Demona winced as if from a sharp blow.

"See," she said in a hollow voice, "this is a possibility that had not occurred to me before it was too late. But what," she went on, "what if your... subjects of protection have proven themselves... unworthy of it?" she questioned, "what if they were, overall, a corrupt, ungrateful, indifferent lot? What if they even failed to treat you with respect?"

"Well," hesitated Mary, "I work in NYC. You know as well as I do what kind of public we have here. And I don't always get decent treatment from those I am trying to help," she added slyly.

"Yet you persist," stated Demona.

"I do."

"Because it is your duty?"

"Yes. And because, I guess, I still hope to make a difference."

"But what if you had despaired of it?"

"Well, then, I suppose it would become a self-fulfilling prophecy, wouldn't it?" mused Mary, "I would give up, and so nothing would change, and I then could say I have known it all along, couldn't I?"

"Couldn't you?" contemplated Demona, "Couldn't you, indeed?.. What would you have done, then, if you were me?" she suddenly demanded.

Mary sighed as if she had seen this coming.

"Please keep in mind that the whole story is known, perhaps, to you alone of all beings who are still alive today."

"For twenty years," said Demona in a voice she couldn't quite keep steady, "the years that were supposed to be the best of my life, I had lived under the pressing weight of a terrible prophecy that predicted the mass destruction of my clan. I had tried to push away the thoughts that pestered my brain every single night, to live in the moment, for my beloved, my brothers and sisters. But as the year during which the disaster was supposed to happen approached, I was seized by a mad rush to find out the plans being concocted against us, and to thwart them. I had a number of suspects within the castle. The Archmage, the Magus, even the Captain, an important ally as he was... the only one I didn't suspect was..."

"Yourself," Mary finished very quietly. She nodded.

"The Viking leader was a careful flatterer. I believed he had greater respect for my kind, that he valued us more than the inhabitants of Wyvern. There, I believed, the answer lay. I... I have often wondered what would have happened if I... if I had done differently."

"I cannot say for sure," Mary said very cautiously, "but in your situation, with your upbringing, your character, and the information you possessed – or thought you possessed – I can't promise I wouldn't have been swayed to do just the same," she concluded.

"Would you, then, consider yourself capable of an act of evil?" asked Demona.

"I would consider myself capable of succumbing to the weakness of a tragic mistake, caused, probably, by doubt and fear, rather than wishing to cause harm."

"What would you do after you have seen the disaster, then?" Demona's eyes were strangely bright.

"I'm not sure," Mary replied gently, "I'm not certain I could have faced the guilt. I would, perhaps, try to assuage it by allocating some portion of the blame to others, by seeking revenge. It would have been an expected course of action. And I don't know whether, along the way, I wouldn't have ruined all that could still be recovered."

"Like I did, you mean," Demona bared her teeth.

"Hey, no need to bite my head off," retorted Mary, "you asked for my opinion, after all."

"No idea why," huffed Demona.

"Perhaps because I am detached from this whole story," Mary replied, not unkindly, "an outsider."

"If you ever consider to..." Demona began threateningly.

"Yes, yes," Mary nodded indifferently, "if I pass one word of this to anyone else, I'm a goner."

"Not afraid of me, are you?"

"No. It's you, I think, who is afraid of herself."

"All I did after castle Wyvern fell," Demona said slowly, the fire in her eyes extinguished, "I think I did it so I wouldn't go mad with grief. But then," she added bitterly, "I still did."

"Where will you go from here, then?" asked Mary after a pause.

"I told you. To my next safehouse."

"And from there?" insisted Mary. "Surely you don't mean to stay in hiding for the rest of your life. What will you do next?"

"Does it matter?" Demona's voice was hollow. "Nothing to concern the NYPD, I assure you."

"This has nothing to do with the NYPD!" Mary exclaimed indignantly, "Why are you trying to make it seem as though nobody cares what happens to you?"

"I do not know who cares," said the witch, "but surely, not I."

"Well, since you consider me an impertinent, annoying human anyway, I will test your patience a bit more," said Mary, "I'll tell you what I think you should do."

"What?"

"What you had been avoiding for a thousand years. Find the courage to step up to the others and admit you have been wrong."

Demona let out a short, mirthless laugh.

"So typical for a human. You are creatures of shallow principles and short memories. Do you think an _apology_ would be enough to cover up for all those ruined lives, all the empty years? What good could it do? Anyone who lived in Wyvern would spit in my face!"

"Aiming for general popularity would be too optimistic, I agree," Mary nodded, "but I think it can still make a great difference. First and foremost for you. Like it or not, unless you are planning to fold your wings and jump out of the window right now, you still have many long years in front of you, and you ought to make decisions on how to live on. With the right intentions, if you are looking for an opportunity to change, it _will_ appear."

"Well, there is one thing I am fairly certain of," Demona said, "I have decided I cannot trust myself with magic again. Even with the annihilation of my ring, the loss of immortality and the ability to turn into a human by daylight, sorcery can yet wreck enough havoc. I am giving it up. Curing Goliath from his blindness was the last time I used a spell. From now on, I'm done with magic. I'm on my own."

"That's fine and well," replied Mary, "but what _will_ you do?"

Demona didn't reply. She closed her eyes, remembering a dream she had. As a rule, gargoyles don't dream, but in her human form, she found these brain-possessing visions quite curious.

She saw herself on a beach, a beautiful, lonely, peaceful place – a place she had loved, before it became full of bitter memories; the place where she had met the last sunrise before the massacre of her clan. Only in her dream, she had led them all away to safety; and strangely, upon the sun's rays meeting their skin, they did not turn to stone, but basked in the golden sunlight with childish enthusiasm, splashing in the water and exclaiming with pleasure at the colors hitherto unknown to them.

And with the rising sun right behind him, he stepped up to her. The rays of sunlight hit her eyes so that his outline appeared blurred to her, but she still would have recognized him anywhere. Her steps on the wet, firm sand were feather-light as she rushed into the familiar, welcoming safety of his arms.

"See here," he beamed, again the young lad she first fell for, "it is so easy, my love."

And then it came over her like a merciless blow, a cruel epiphany: she should never have lied to him. Should never have had secrets from him. Should never have allowed anyone to come between them.

Not even herself.

Now it was clear to her that there was only one path to truly lead her _on_, away from shame and suffering. She will never be truly free until she is with her brothers and sisters again, in the place beyond the border of the mortal world, beyond the piles of rubble her clan had become so long ago, their lives brutally cut off. A place of complete peace and no pain, where she can embrace them and talk to them again, explain over and over that her intentions were exactly the opposite of what her actions had turned out to be, that it was all a terrible mistake. A place where she will see their understanding smiles and hear their words of forgiveness, telling her that all was put to rights, and there is no need to think about it any longer.

A place where, one day, Goliath will walk towards her, both of them as young as when they first fell in love, and she will no longer have to fear the merciless time trickling through their fingers...

But what can she do to earn the right to go to that place?

Her eyes snapped open.

"Stop wasting your time on me," she said firmly.

"I beg your pardon?" Mary raised an eyebrow.

"You once told me what had happened to you. I know that in a way, part of you is still there, as part of me is still back in Wyvern. But I think you ought to go on. Forget me. Make an effort to see him again."

"Who?"

"David, of course."

"How... how do you..." Mary stammered and blushed.

"Trust me," the gargoyle said passionately, "life is full of suffering. When a chance for happiness comes across you, don't waste it."


	17. The swan song

She now knew what the pivotal moment in her life had been. It was the instant when her older self, closely followed by that of her beloved's, appeared before her in the flames of the Phoenix gate.

Granted, she had to be honest with herself, all the ingredients for setting up the time bomb were already there: her ambition, her pride, egged on by the success of her apprenticeship with the Archmage, her growing discontent with the treatment they got from the rulers and inhabitants of the castle.

She was offended not so much for herself, she thought defensively, but for Goliath.

Another image, long obscured by events of more importance, sprang up in her memory.

She and Goliath were walking up the castle's front steps, accompanied by the Captain. Both the young leader and his Second were in a state of slight trepidation – even though Wyvern was their home, this was the first time they used the main entrance.

"I am sure the princess will want to thank you personally," said the Captain, "she will be in the main hall now. After me, you two."

So he led the way to the throne, with Goliath and Demona following in his wake, drawing astonished gasps from those attending the princess. They didn't stop or slow, though, and when they approached the seat where princess Katharine presided, all three sank onto one knee.

"Your Highness," said the Captain, "these two, the gargoyle leader and his Second in command, are the ones thanks to whom we had been able to thwart the Vikings."

But he stopped at the look of shock and outrage on the princess's face.

"What is the meaning of this, Captain?" she frowned, "What were you thinking, bringing these – these_ beasts_ into the castle?"

She didn't even address the gargoyles, or spare them a glance.

That was so unfair, Demona thought with a rush of anger. It was her beloved the humans feared and avoided – her just, noble, brave, loyal, honorable Goliath, who was, without fail, ready to lay down his life to protect the very same humans who had despised him for his wild looks, not knowing that not only his strength, but his intelligence as well was more than a match for their own. Unlike most who had lived at that time, Goliath, when taught by her, had mastered and grew to love reading.

He was, in her opinion, too soft at the time, too scrupulously adhering to principle when dealing with enemies who would have, given the chance, stabbed him in the back.

Are you trying to justify what you had done? A voice at the back of her brain asked.

No, I am only trying to understand.

Goliath didn't show he was hurt by this treatment, his loyalty remained unwavering – but she grew bitter.

They were sitting under one of the forest trees. His head was in her lap, and she was dabbing at his injuries with a healing salve she had concocted out of herbs and tree bark, to prevent inflammation.

"Thank you," he said gratefully, "now I know dawn will heal me completely, and I will be all well when I meet tomorrow night."

"My sweet love," Demona said in her silkiest voice, "you are being treated most unjustly."

He sighed.

"Never mind that, my angel."

"But I do mind," she said passionately, handing him a crisp autumn apple she had plucked for him in the castle orchards, "your victory against the vikings was glorious. Any human warrior who'd succeed in doing the same would have gained a high position with his rulers, not to mention his weight in gold as reward."

He looked at her in surprise.

"But we don't care about such things, my love," he said, "I don't expect any personal glory for what I had done. It was my duty."

She looked at him, her expression half admiring, half irritated. He took a bite of apple and chewed slowly.

"I would expect, at the very least, some basic gratitude," she countered, "they are taking advantage of you, Goliath!"

"I only do what I am meant to do," he replied, "I protect. Besides, I can understand, somewhat, why humans are so wary of us. Differences in looks and customs bring forth suspicion and hostility in them, even though it's only garb and language, not skin and bone. I have you by my side, my angel love," he added, noticing her skeptical expression, "that is all the reward I can ask for."

That was one of the things she had admired about him so – his pure soul, whole and selfless. However, as much as she was ashamed of such thoughts, she couldn't help but ask herself whether this didn't also make him weak, reduce him to servitude. _She_ never could find it in her to renounce what she considered to be rightfully hers.

Not too long after, she met the young viking.

She was patrolling the part of forest that began right behind the castle stables when she saw him. The careless northerner strayed right along one of the paths she knew well, and she swept straight at him, teeth and claws bared, eyes alight.

To her surprise, he didn't run, but raised his hands in a gesture of surrender.

"Wait!" he called, "I carry no sword, see? I did not come to fight."

"What are you doing this close to the castle, then?" she snarled, her muscles flexed, ready to strike at his first suspicious movement.

"To have a look," he paused, "at you."

She was taken aback. Seeing his advantage, he pressed on:

"I confess I am doing this on orders of our chieftain, who takes a special interest in your kind. But I would have come on my own," his voice was warm and earnest now, "it was precisely you, of all your... kin that I hoped I would meet."

"Speak plainer," she snapped, "unless you want me to deal with you the quick way."

"I saw you in battle," the young man explained, "the way you swept down with your wings outstretched, as if from the sky... I thought for a moment that you were a Valkyrie, a creature of legend come to collect the souls of fallen warriors, but then I saw the others of your kind and realized you are the creatures I heard tales of, in the distant land where I come from."

"Where is that?" asked Demona. She, who had never left the area surrounding Wyvern, was fascinated with the thought of foreign lands she had heard and read about.

"Greenland," said the man, "a land far away to the west and north from here. A vast country, but sparsely populated. My father is chieftain there. I am Thorstein, by the way," he added, "may I know your name?"

"I have none. Our kind have no need of names to know each other."

"That's interesting," said the viking.

"I still don't understand," the gargoyle female was suspicious as she sized him up, "why did you want to see me?"

"You are a rival worthy of any hero," said Thorstein, and the admiration in his voice mollified her despite herself, "I saw the big one – your leader, I think – he is stronger, but you are the better warrior."

"You haven't seen our leader in the full blast of his fury," she remarked.

"I believe women are always more dangerous," replied Thorstein with a twinkle in his eye, "I have a sister, Freydis, who is fearsome to cross paths with, if you get on her wrong side. If we had been of your kind, I believe she would be like you."

"And well," Demona interrupted him, "now you have seen me, what do you want?"

"You are highly valuable allies to this castle," said Thorstein, "but there is something I don't understand... it seems to me as though you are the servants of its rulers, isn't it so?"

"We protect the castle," she said, firing up at once.

"Yet I don't think the people living here value your protection as they ought to," the viking contradicted, "I don't believe they fully appreciate the position they would have been in if it weren't for you. The castle is more vulnerable than they think."

That much is true, she thought.

"My chieftain wishes very much to meet you and speak with you," said Thorstein, "he has great respect for you. He doesn't underestimate your kind. If our minds are open," he lowered his voice, "a new alliance between humans and gargoyles can be formed, profitable for both sides."

To this day, she didn't know whether Thorstein deceived her on purpose, or whether he had merely been used as a pawn to promote a plot he had no idea about. One thing soon became clear, however: the Viking leader did not seek them as allies. He had other plans.

Did she actually think she was_ better_ than Goliath? That she had superior skill and understanding, that she was fitter to lead the clan? No, she truthfully replied. Perhaps she considered herself the shrewder of the two, more knowledgeable of the ways of humans, less naïve; but she had also, though she hadn't realized it at the time, been vain and arrogant, and thus prone to fall into the trap of careful flattery and vague promises the vikings had prepared for her.

And there was always the prophecy. Her lover had not seen it, but she had, and ever since, she was filled with an obsession to thwart it. From her older self, she had a dire warning and very explicit advice: act, fight, destroy, rise, rule. From him, she had two simple words: "do nothing". But how could it have been enough, she questioned now in despair; how could it have been enough for someone as strong-willed and passionate, as loving and brave as her younger self had been? How could she not try to prevent the approaching end of her world?

She thought she had been given enough knowledge to put a stop to the disaster, but as it turned out, the horrible scene revealed to her, detached from all steps that led up to it, was just enough to push her headfirst into committing the greatest mistake of her life.

"I am what you will become," rang the words of her older self in her ears, time and time again. Before long, she realized they had begun to come true. Very soon after her encounter with Thorstein, she found herself alone, broken-hearted, lost, bitter, and filled with the furious desire to take revenge on the entire human race – a race she could never trust again.

The swan song of their love was two nights before the massacre.

They had been together for nearly twenty years now, but there was always new discovery, and now that their egg resided in the rookery, there was that particular closeness too, another cord that drew them even more powerfully together. Goliath could not know, of course, that the egg was also another factor to prompt her to take on her desperate mission.

That night, they had loved each other like the first time. Longing, teasing, passion, lust, ecstasy, again and again and again. Her hands guiding him, his supporting her, her lips swollen from kisses – long and strong and slow and deep, gauge marks on his shoulders and back, bruises on the fine pale skin of her neck and her collarbone.

But even though they have been pressed close together throughout most of the night, even though the very earth underneath them was on fire, there was no escaping the deadly, chilling sensation that swept over her: that this, all of this, no matter how hard she tried to hold on to it, was slipping away.

"What is the matter, my angel?" Goliath asked with concern when finally, exhausted, unable to move, they nestled against each other in the grass.

She bit her lip, turning away from him so he wouldn't see the tears that sprang to her eyes. The plan was due to take action after tomorrow's sunrise. All had been already negotiated and arranged to ensure the safety of their clan during the attack, and yet... the cold hand of fear was clasped around her throat, cruel, unrelenting, barely allowing her to draw shallow breaths.

"You and I," she finally looked at him again, "is it forever?"

"Why do you ask this, my heart?" he frowned, failing to understand, "have I, in all our time together, given you a reason to doubt it? To question that you are, have always been, and always will be, the most important part of my life – of my very being?"

"No," she whispered, mortified, "no, my love, never."

It isn't too late yet, she thought desperately. She can still confess it all to him, make it stop. In her heart of hearts, she really didn't wish to do this, and she knew that when he finds out about her involvement, as he is bound to eventually, he will be furious beyond words. But if it is, as it seems to her, the only way to save their clan... he hadn't seen what she had seen, he did not witness the destruction, he cannot make the right decision. The responsibility must rest upon her shoulders.

He lifted up her chin with two fingers, very gently, so her eyes met his.

"Is it promises you want, my beloved Angel of the Night?" he asked, "Surely you know you have no need of them. I am yours, heart and mind, body and soul. I don't even know anymore where I end and you begin, where lies the border between your soul and mine. I feel your joys and your sorrows, your trials and triumphs, and I know there is something lately that weighs upon your heart."

She froze, terrified. If he questions her now – oh, please, don't, I can't stand it, I can't bear it!

"Whatever it is," he pressed on, and she knew by his expression that her shock did not pass unregistered, "you retain, of course, the freedom to tell me about it in your time and on your terms, my love. But," his voice was so tender it nearly made her break down and come out with it all, "you ought to keep in mind, always, that you and I are one flesh, one heart, one soul, since we were joined together all those years ago, until the end of our time in this world and, if souls are eternal, beyond it as well."

She kissed him slowly, passionately, her heart overflowing with pain and gratitude. In the meantime, the last grains in their sand clock trickled away, noticed by no one.


	18. Underground

"You again?" Demona said indifferently as she opened the door and saw Mary's short plump figure, "what is your excuse for coming this time, human?.. You look as though you've been in a hurry," she remarked with mild curiosity as she looked at Mary's flushed face. The little woman's breath was coming out in puffs, and she couldn't speak straight away due to the painful stitch in her side, which she doubled up clutching.

"You'll be in a hurry too," Mary panted out eventually, "once you know that your daughter and the rest of the clan are now fighting for their lives!"

She saw with satisfaction how the gargoyle's eyes widened with shock and her complexion paled.

"What?" Demona exhaled sharply.

"Thailog's clan," Mary said curtly, mopping her sweaty brow, "taking their revenge at Goliath and the others, for providing you with shelter. If you want to make it in time to help them you must hurry, I came as soon as I could, but..."

"Where?" demanded the gargoyle female.

"The underground tunnels underneath that old warehouse at Lower East Side," Mary breathed out, and before she was even able to finish the phrase, Demona was gone in a swish of tail and fiery red hair. Mary released a tremulous sigh and began descending down the many stairs, not before she locked the door and carefully pocketed the keys.

"She may have experience beyond anything I can imagine," Mary said to herself, "but she has one thing yet to learn – in Manhattan, you don't go out and leave your apartment door unlocked."

Demona didn't doubt Mary's words, but she was still wondering what Thailog's cronies were playing at. What did they think to gain by attacking the clan? Unless it really was a plain mindless attempt at revenge?

When she arrived, the battle was already raging, the air thick with snarls and blows. It was clear that the clan was in dire need of reinforcement. The genetically modified gargoyles calling themselves Michigan, Kansas, Iowa, Missouri, Dakota and Washington were not the brightest lot, but they were fierce and vicious, and had been wholly devoted to their leader, Thailog. Goliath was fighting Missouri and Dakota at once, the others took on the remaining foursome, but though they were the larger clan, it was clear that Angela and Lexington were no match, in terms of sheer force, to Kansas and Iowa, and neither was Korian to Washington.

Since the fighting was going on underground, there were no currents of wind on which to glide, which led to prompt and intense face-to-face confrontation. It seemed as though her arrival was quite timely, and extracted cries of surprise from both camps, neither of whom, it appeared, were sure on which side she would fight.

She resolved this mystery by rushing straight into the heat of battle and and grounding Kansas with one mighty kick of her well-trained foot. Her injuries, ordinary as well as magical, were gone now, and she was on excellent form.

Angela greeted her with an exclamation of delight, but she shoved her away, as Michigan attempted a blow from behind. In the next second, Korian saved her life by a well-timed warning thanks to which she was able to dodge a dangerous move from the direction of Missouri. The battle unfurled in full heat, and they managed to push their enemies deeper, in the direction of the cavernous trash processing pits.

The vast echoing underground tunnels, however, weren't kept in very good shape, and Goliath, as the heaviest of them, caused the edge of one of the processing pits to crumble underneath his feet, which made him topple over and left him dangling from the fingertips of one hand, at the edge of a hundred-foot-deep chasm. The echo of falling stone, and the realization of its source, chilled Demona's blood.

"Goliath, no!" yelled Brooklyn and made to get to him, but she stopped him, throwing out her arm in urgent warning.

"No!" she cried, "Don't get close, or we will all fall!"

Instead, she rushed towards Goliath, stepping as lightly as she could, and held out her hand.

"Goliath, hold on!" she yelled.

"I am too heavy for you!" he roared back, "you won't be able to pull me up, I'll drag us both down! Get back! This place will cave in soon, _get back and take everyone else out_!"

If she hadn't been so terrified, she'd roll her eyes in exasperation. He always insisted on being oh-so-noble and sacrificial, the fool.

"Hold on, you idiot!" she snarled, clutching his wrist with both hands. Then his fingers closed around hers, and with his other hand, he slowly began to claw his careful way up. Within a minute, both of them were lying, panting, at the edge of the chasm, and after catching their breath, slowly began to inch away from it.

Upon sensing danger, and taking advantage of the confusion, their enemies fled the crumbling tunnels, and no one was there now save for the clan, Elisa and Demona. When her heart stopped beating so violently in her chest, she realized that they were all standing in a circle surrounding her, all staring at her with a most curious expression, with Goliath right in front of her. He took a deep breath.

"This is the second time you saved my life lately," he said, "the debt is now in your favor."

"Forget about debt," she shrugged, "I knew you were attacked for helping me."

"Well said," he nodded, looking around him, as if searching for words, then right back at her, "let us forget about debt, then. You have done well tonight."

"Well, if I get a pat on the back from you, Goliath, then I suppose all this hadn't been in vain," she bristled.

"You have risked your life to save ours," he paused, "to save mine. Whatever you had been, I know you are not our enemy anymore. You were a part of this clan once. Let it be so once more."

"What?" said Demona after a heartbeat in which she tried to process his words. She heard an indignant exclamation from Brooklyn, but no one paid him any attention. Breath was collectively drawn in, all eyes were fixed upon her. Elisa looked too shocked to speak. On Korian's face, though, there was a knowing smirk for which Demona felt she could have strangled him.

"Come back to the clan," repeated Goliath, "be one of us again."

"Thank you for the gesture," she replied coolly after a brief second, "but I cannot do that."

Brooklyn and Elisa looked relieved, Angela crestfallen. One day, Demona thought, perhaps she will understand.

"Why not?" demanded Goliath. He sounded angry, bewildered. Clearly, this was not the answer he expected. Demona sensed a flush of humiliation creeping upon her face as she looked him straight in the eye and said:

"If you are asking this, then perhaps you never really knew me."

And, leaving a stunned silence in her wake, she turned around and left.

When Demona came back to her place, she found Mary still there. Upon her arrival, Mary flung aside the glass of wine with which she had been fiddling for the past half hour, and jumped up from her seat as though it was electrified.

"I came back to wait for you, when I realized how long it will take me to get there in the traffic," she explained breathlessly, "well? Is everybody alright?"

"Certainly," Demona replied calmly, "are you actually drinking this murky water? I forgot I even had that bottle."

"I only opened the cupboards to look for a snack to pass the time," said Mary, "but all you have around the house is liquor," she finished with a concerned reproof.

"This one is much better," remarked Demona, opening another bottle and pouring a considerable portion of it into a silver goblet. Her hand stopped mid-air as she heard a whoosh of wind and beheld her daughter's silhouette on the terrace. Loud rapping could then be heard on the glass terrace door.

As soon as her mother opened, Angela strode in without so much as a word of welcome. She looked very sombre.

"Angela!" Mary greeted her enthusiastically, "no one is injured, I hope?" she inquired anxiously.

"Nothing serious," replied the young female, "no, we were very lucky tonight. I assumed it was you, Mary, who told my mother to come. We were all fortunate that she did. She did brilliantly – saved Goliath, saved us all."

"Why the long face, then?" Mary didn't understand.

"My father asked her to come back to the clan," said Angela.

"Did he?" Mary seized upon the subject with an expression of liveliest interest. Demona let out a derisive snort.

"And she refused," continued Angela accusingly.

"I did not ask for his favors," Demona said curtly, pouring two more goblets of wine.

"It was no favor, and you know it!" Angela said hotly, "You saved his life! It was..." she struggled for words.

"Gratitude?" suggested Mary.

"Do you want me to spell out where Goliath can stick his... gratitude?" spat Demona. To her vast annoyance, Mary's face assumed a most irritating expression of understanding. The corners of her mouth twitched.

"I'll bet Goliath didn't take kindly to being refused in front of the whole clan," she said.

"As soon as we came back to the castle, he locked himself up in the library, and refused to talk to anyone," said Angela, "why won't you come back?" she burst out at her mother, "it's your chance to make everything right!"

"One day," said Demona, "you will understand that some things cannot be made right. Besides, I have been alone this long," she added matter-of-factly, "I do not need a clan – certainly not one that brings shame upon oneself by including humans."

"What?" exclaimed both Angela and Mary together.

"Surely we all know perfectly well who I refer to?" Demona lifted an eyebrow.

"If you mean Elisa, she is no member of the clan," insisted Angela.

"Not for lack of trying," countered Demona.

The other two looked at her blankly.

"I need not insult your intelligence by further explanation," she haughtily concluded, draining her wine.

Mary finally allowed herself to laugh.

"You can't mean what I think you mean!" she protested, "you can't! It – it is impossible!"

"Oh really?" Demona's tone was that of mock incredulity, "and what makes you so certain?"

Comprehension, finally, began to dawn upon Angela too.

"So_ this_ is what is bothering you," she said slowly, "you think that Elisa and my..."

"Nothing is bothering me," Demona cut across her sharply, as if her daughter touched upon something too painful, "it's nearly dawn. You had better go back."

Yes, Demona thought bitterly after Angela and Mary had left, he is an even bigger fool than she thought if he imagined for a moment she would consent to going back to the castle and the clan on _such_ terms. He knows nothing about her, if he thinks that after all that had happened between them, in the distant as well as the recent past, she would continue living side by side with him, like simply one of his rookery sisters, with the inconceivable gap between them nothing could ever bridge over.

He is mad if he thinks she would ever go back to constantly see him in the company of that insufferable human, Elisa Maza. No! She might have lost many things, but she still has her pride. Perhaps, she consented, too much of it. If there was one part about tonight's situation that brought her satisfaction, she mused, it was the expression on Maza's face when Goliath offered her to come back to the clan. It was obvious Maza found the idea as unappealing as she had.

And, smiling slightly at this thought, she met the dawn.


	19. One

He was always a loner, but in the following nights, Angela had the feeling she is unable to shake off her father's huge brooding figure. It seemed things were back to normal at the castle – Vidar, Aslaug and Ingvild have left, leaving Aslaug's smitten betrothed behind, in happy anticipation of the wedding. That was one suitor less for her, she supposed, amused despite herself. Being a sole female in a company of young, hormone-driven males had not been easy.

Without the constant presence of her mother, the others seemed more at ease. But she noticed something about her father that made her fearful and hopeful beyond hope at the same time.

"What is on your mind?" she finally asked him.

He unclenched a huge fist, and in his open palm she saw the amethyst ring.

"This belongs to your mother," he said, his voice raspy, "I do not want this around here. It must be returned to her. Do you know where to find her?"

Angela told him, her face expressionless. But as he walked away, she slowly began to smile.

"...He went to find her," she later told the Elder, a misty expression in her eyes.

"And what of it, lass?" he grumbled. Angela nudged him in the ribs.

"Don't _what of it_ me. If Korian were here, he'd have a lot to say about this."

The Elder fixed her with a serious look.

"Lass," he said, "if this means what you think it means, did you consider the consequences?"

"What consequences?" Angela furrowed her brow.

"He said she will never change," the elder paused, "and that he will never trust her again. I know what it cost him to come to terms with that."

"I always thought he made that decision all too easily,"Angela said in a sad whisper.

"They are your parents, and unlike you, I knew them as hatchlings. I never saw a pair wrapped around each other's hearts like those two. When they came to me and asked to be bonded, I told them I will marry them - yet it is not in my power to provide a stronger bond than they already shared. Their hearts were seamed together for a lifetime."

Angela hung on to every word of his, enraptured by the story no one ever shared with her.

"Now, I know how many times he had hoped to bring her back, and how many times she toyed with him, and each time it all turned out to be a trick, a lie, or something to justify what she had done. She had never even tried to show remorse, that bad a show she knew it would be. But she did try her hand in manipulation, many a time. And lass, I do not want to see your father made a fool of once more."

"Not this time," Angela firmly said, "it's different, I know it is. How can't you see it, after all that had transpired?"

"Aye, she had suffered," the Elder nodded grimly, "but lass, there is one thing you must understand. Goliath was ready to forgive her for a good long time. It's just that she never asked for forgiveness."

...When he accepted the token of her love and said "forever", he, unlike her, didn't have the least idea of the sort of future they were all facing. He didn't know their clan would be destroyed in a few years, nor that it would be only the first in a chain of disasters to follow.

It made no difference, however. The vow that had sealed their bond of love was more powerful magic than any of the spells that had always fascinated her so. They could remain apart, they could glaze over what they were meant to be, but the bond would only die together with them. Blood of his blood, his clanmate sister she had always been, but it was he who made her soul of his soul.

There was no escape. Not really. They could renounce each other, in fact they had done it a long time ago, but any words of commitment spoken to another would ring hollow and false, superficial compared to this first and most powerful passion that changed the entire course of their lives.

That was why he was on his way now, he realized. To remind her of things she had long forgotten, to retrace the steps that led to the abandonment of his positions.

He felt like a fool even as he advanced in her direction. What is it that he is expecting to hear? Justifications? Excuses? Would it make any difference? He had been disillusioned a long time ago, and his position of bitter sobriety was too safe a retreat to easily risk leaving.

"Perhaps he never really knew her..." well, he thought grimly, that much was obvious, wasn't it? Otherwise, how could her most sinister plans have taken him by surprise? Yet those words of hers rang incessantly in his ears, almost accusingly, as though there was a secret meaning he had failed to decipher in her refusal to join the clan once more.

He shouldn't have gone at all, he told himself just as he reached his destination. There was no need to. He should have let someone else do this, while he could still prevent the further festering of old wounds.

...The flickering lights of the little apartment told him that she had lit candles. On this cold evening, the frosty wind engulfed him like icy currents, and he was half numb with cold when he landed on her balcony.

He thought to make his presence known, but as it turned out, there was no need to. She was very cautious, and no doubt alert to him coming. Almost as soon as he landed, she stepped out through the sliding glass doors, and cast him a look in which incredulity, hope, fear and defiance all mixed together.

"You came," she said in half a whisper.

He thrust a hand into the leather pouch at his belt, and a second later, seeing what he held in his outstretched palm, she stepped back and shook her head.

"I don't want this anymore, I told you," she said.

"Can you at least tell what it is all about with the ring?" he asked.

She hesitated.

"There was a time when I went to great lengths to obtain it," she finally said, "but now I think I shouldn't have. It's a long story."

"Something else I was not supposed to know?" he growled. "You were always determined I wouldn't know what you were up to, weren't you?"

"I..." she paused, "I'm afraid I was always confident of your... disapproval of anything that didn't strictly obey the rules."

"My disapproval indeed," he growled, and his hands balled into clawed fists, "that was how it was from the start, wasn't it? Even when I thought of you as an innocent angel... my Angel of the Night... you never confided in me. Not in a single thing. What were you doing with the Archmage, all that time?"

"A lot of things," replied Demona regretfully, "all of which were stupid to begin with, and none of which make the least difference now."

"You grew quite apt at evasion tactics," he said in a voice of hollow disappointment, "but then, I suppose that is part of what once made you my best warrior."

"I made many mistakes," she offered feebly.

"That much," said Goliath in a tone of finality, "goes without saying."

She stared at the floor, her chest heaving, and neither of them moved. But there was an almost physical tingling in the air, a current which fills the space between two powerful magnets that are drawn together by an irresistible, undeniable power – yet kept apart. She tried to speak but realized her voice doesn't obey her anymore.

"You once called me a sentimental fool," he said bitterly, "painful to hear but true nevertheless. I was always a fool for you. Quick in battle and sharp of mind, but when it came to you, I was a lackwit. We grew up together, but I never really knew you. If I had, I would not be so surprised to see what you proved you are capable of."

She looked at him, knowing there is not much she can offer in response. He was angry, still very angry, but she preferred to have him here, hauling accusations at her, than locked away in his tower.

"Damn it," he said softly, "did it really have to be this way?"

"I told you once before, and I will tell you now," she quietly replied, "it can be whichever way you set your mind to," she made a brief pause, "Leader."

"I am tired of this," he said with a maddening mask of self-control. "If only you knew how."

They were mated for life, and their unnatural state of separation had taken a heavy toll on them both – heavier than either of them was willing to admit.

Propelled by a force that had never relinquished its hold on him, he made a few steps forward. His face must have shown fury, because he saw fear in hers, and she stepped back until she was pressed flat against the building wall.

"Get away from me," she said. It was not a battle-raging snarl, nor a cool and confident command. She said this in a pleading whisper, quite unlike her usual self.

And then he must have gone mad, because he remembered that a shifting red veil of anger clouded his vision, and he yelled at her, his rage-contorted face very close to hers, and he flung at her every hurtful word that ever came to his mind, and called her names too foul to repeat, the kindest of which was "treacherous harpy." It was as though a dam broke inside him; for many months, he was restrained, he was self-controlled, he was reasonable. And he was fed up with it.

"Why?" he bellowed. "I loved you! I trusted you! I did everything for you! Why in the name of heaven did you do it?"

"The prophecy," she said faintly. "When you used the Phoenix Gate for the first time, you saw what I saw all those years ago – I didn't know what I should – "

"I will tell you what you should have done!" Goliath shouted at the top of his lungs. "You should have stayed away from the bloody Vikings! You should never have betrayed the people of Wyvern! And you should have told me about this thrice-damned prophecy! I was your _Leader,_ damn it, but obviously you had no shred of trust in my judgment, Demona!"

She winced, as if from physical pain. "Don't…" she could hardly get the words from her mouth. "Don't call me that."

"Why not? You were proud of that name." He said grimly, barely repressing his anger. Instead of answering, she merely averted her eyes.

"_Why?"_ he howled in uncontrolled fury, pounding the wall, raging at her, at himself, a the world. The sight was fearsome to behold. A few cracks ran from the place where his enormous fist had hit. In similar outrage, it appeared, a rainstorm started to beat against the walls and windows, drenching them both to the skin in a matter of seconds. She pushed her sopping hair out of her face and looked at him bravely, unflinching.

"If you kill me, I won't blame you," she said quietly.

He took another step forward. Confusion reigned in his mind. For a moment, he wasn't sure whether he is supposed to shake her by her shoulders until her teeth rattled, or continue talking to her, trying to wheedle details of long-gone past. Then, a whiff of smell reached his nostrils. It was the scent he had tried to push out of his mind for so long, the smell of damp springy grass by a silvery moonlit forest pool.

From this point on, his mind retained only flashes of consciousness. One moment, he was pinning her against the cold stone wall, her heaving chest pressing against his. The next moment, he towered over her and split her lips with a kiss that was almost an assault.

For a fraction of a second, he still had the presence of mind to wonder whether what he was doing was right, but then he felt her mouth open under his, and she let out a soft, low moan of a craving too long suppressed. Her arms were around his neck, her hands buried in his hair, caressing his face. He wanted either of them to say something, anything, but all the while they were drinking, insatiable, from each other's lips. It was impossible to stop. He was kissing her with all the pent up passion, frustration, longing, loneliness, rage, pain, love, sorrow, and against all odds, hope.

He didn't remember how exactly they had left the freezing terrace and ended up inside her hideout apartment. He later supposed the bitterly cold, icy wind was enough to drive them in. All to the better, for the noise they were making was soon about to reach a scale that would attract the police.

They were blind and deaf to the world, cut off from anything that wasn't their bodies touching. The only sound that made Goliath's mind briefly contact with reality was that of ripping cloth.

Tonight, he put on a tunic – something he seldom did. The tunic was much too tight for his barrel-like chest, and threatened to split with every movement.

And now she had relieved him from it.

He wasn't quite so brutal with her clothing, but nevertheless, it was soon scattered all over the floor, and now nothing stopped their eyes from feasting on each other. The cold blue light of streetlamps shining faintly through a thick curtain of rain made her skin look almost like cream, except her nipples, which were erect and dark. He bent and kissed them, teased them, drank them, and she purred in the way he could never resist.

"Yes," she moaned, "oh heavens, yes, I can't believe this is happening."

He couldn't believe it either, but her hands were everywhere, gripping his shoulders, massaging his chest, caressing his buttocks. She reached under his loincloth and squeezed, letting out a moan of desire when she realized with satisfaction how very ready he was for her. She ducked down to unbuckle his belt and stared at him with her eyes wide open, as if she could never look enough. Things were starting to get out of hand very fast, as it had always happened with her.

"Hurry," she begged, straddling him, "hurry, or I will think you are having second thoughts."

Second thoughts? For once, his mind was blissfully empty of almost _any_ thought at all. Still, he shook his head, unwilling to rush the precious moment of delighting in each other. They had waited so long. He didn't want this to be over sooner than it had to.

He didn't want this to seem like a dream.

"If we do this, you are mine," he said fiercely, through clenched teeth, even as he pulled her towards him. "Mine. Do you understand?"

She pressed even closer to him and let out a sound of longing, something between a growl and a purr. He thought he had never heard anything more seductive.

"Then you are taking too long to claim what's yours," she whispered, "I'm yours. I could never belong to another. Come now, my love."

"There are still hours before dawn, my sweet," he growled, his passion tugging at his loins with a force that was almost painful, "I intend to make the most of them."

When they finally came together as one, it was sheer ecstasy. After such a long time, it was impossible to keep any shred of control now that he was in her and she was in him, and they shared the beating of two hearts as one. Melting under him and pressing close to him, she clawed at his back, and though he winced, there was never pain he had found more welcome.

"My love," she moaned, "my love, my sweet, my only one. Yes, like this, yes."

Perhaps he could have held on for a little longer if she had helped him, but she did not. She made sounds like a cat in heat, beckoning him, opening her legs wider and wrapping them around his waist; and after rolling on top of her, he burst.

Afterward, they lay side by side like so many years ago. Her head was resting on his shoulder, and it was with inexpressible tenderness that she lifted up a hand to cup his cheek. She felt so good curled up next to him that he scarcely dared to move.

She leaned into him and he wrapped his wings around her, strong and warm.

And then, without any warning, she turned her face away and began to weep.

Goliath propped himself on his elbow, worry coursing through him. He feared this. What they just did happened too quickly and with little talking. They were so eager, both of them. Was it too much? Did he perhaps awaken memories from _that_ night, the night when he found her in the barrack, he wondered with a stab of pain? She seemed more vulnerable now than she had then. He placed a comforting hand on her shoulder.

"Did I… hurt you?" He asked as delicately as possible.

She briefly looked at him before looking away again, and shook her head, squeezing his hand.

"How could you, when I desire you more than anything in the world?" She paused, letting her words register. "No, it was I who hurt you, my love. I ruined you. I ruined us all."

Goliath was grateful for the clouds that now obscured the moon, for the possibility to do nothing for now but put his arms and wings around her and rock with her in her grief. There were tears clouding his vision and a painful something clogging his throat he could not soon get rid of.

"My love," he finally said in a low voice, "most of all, it was yourself that you ruined."

Her face was now buried in his chest, and tears were streaming down his cheeks into her hair. He made no effort to wipe them. They cried for all they had lost and all they had gone through, and though he had never felt pain like this in his life, he knew it was unavoidable if they were to truly go on.

"Have you ever thought," she spoke, lifting her tear-stained face up to him, "what it could be like if I never did what I did – if I never gave in to my ambition – if I never meddled with sorcery – if I had just been content with being your Second and your wife? We wouldn't have lost our home and clan then. We wouldn't have lost so much time. We could… we could have lived like our kind always did. We could have been so happy."

He had harbored many bitter thoughts dwelling on it, but now what pained him most was the torment of her soul, and he wished he knew how to comfort her, yet she seemed beyond consolation, maddened with guilt and grief.

"My fault," she sobbed, "from the beginning till the end, it was all my fault. I think I always knew it, even when I blamed you, blamed others. Blaming others was easier. I was the one who destroyed our clan. I betrayed you. I betrayed all our promises, all our tokens of love, all we ever said we'd hold on to. And there is nothing, nothing, nothing I can do now."

She didn't say "forgive me"; she didn't dare. Instead, she knelt next to him, clutching his hand.

"I didn't want them to die," she said so hoarsely he could barely make out the words. "Our clan. I am to blame, but I never meant any harm to befall them. Do you believe me?"

He nodded. Even in their worst moments of enmity, he knew.

"I always knew that," he said softly, "we all did. No one doubted it. At first, you thought you were doing the right thing, even though you betrayed the humans we were supposed to protect. What happened to our clan was a tragedy, but it was just the beginning. It was later that the poisonous cycle of vengeance ruined your soul, my love. But it is not yet beyond repair."

"I should have gone with them," she shook her head, struggling for breath, "I belong there, in the stone rubble of castle Wyvern."

"No," he said, "you belong with me."

"You should leave," she whispered, "I don't deserve this. I don't deserve _you_."

But even as she said that, her hand caught his and she held on to him as if for dear life. She felt as though her heart would stop if her skin parted contact with his for a mere second.

"I forgive you," he said, caressing her hair, and his voice broke, "I forgive you, my heart. The debts are paid. You need not punish yourself anymore. You are my wife, and we must be together again."

When she lifted up her head and looked at him, her face was glazed with tears.

"You are so kind, my love," she whispered, "you were always so kind and generous with me. But I'm afraid nothing can repair the damage I have done."

He gathered her small hands in his. They were cold and trembling, and he kissed them until they were warm again. In return, she squeezed one of his enormous hands in both of hers, and kissed it too, and pressed her wet cheek to it. She averted her eyes, but he saw tears sparkling under her eyelashes.

"You surely remember," Goliath said, "how I tried to meddle with time and change the present by altering the past. I now know it was folly. The one thing we can, and should do, is to look towards the future and work in the present, in this very moment. What matters is now. I have you by my side again now, and I will not let you go."

"My love," she said, tenderly kissing him, yet there was such sorrow in her kiss that he felt as though his heart would break, "if someone told me I must die for this one hour spent in your arms, I would die happily."

"But you won't die," he replied, "I need you. The loneliness has been too great and too long. I need my wife. You are mine again now."

"Now and forever," she whispered, pressing close to him.

"Then come," he said decisively, "return to the castle with me."

He saw, again, the shadow of terror flickering in her eyes. She shook her head.

"Oh no, my love, I couldn't do that. Please don't ask me to."

"Why not?" he furrowed his brow.

"I can't… can't face them." she said with a broken voice. "To go back the way you suggest, would mean I have to – to talk to them. To explain… and… they now see me as an enemy. And I deserve it. Every bit of it."

"Alright," he relented, "not now. But soon." He lifted her chin and made her meet his eyes, "You know hiding is not a solution. It never was."

"You must go now," she told him, with all the resolution it took, "by now, you are missed for sure."


	20. No more tears

He was missed indeed. In the library, Angela was pacing back and forth as if she wanted to imprint a trail in the carpet.

"It has been hours," she told the Elder anxiously, "he went to give her ring back, and has been gone since sunset. Do you think something happened?"

"Knowing my sister, they are probably shagging each other senseless as we speak," she heard the satisfied smirk in Korian's voice behind her back, and turned around. Her eyes widened.

"Do you really think they would..?"

"Lad," the Elder placed a restraining hand on Korian's shoulder, "watch your tongue. It's Angela's parents you're speaking of."

"Yeah, and she is my sister," said Korian, shrugging, "so I can only guess she has natural talents that run in the family," he grinned, "not that I think any the worse of it, I've told Goliath many a time that what my sister really needs is not understanding and compassion, it's a good beating and a healthy romp up her –"

The Elder put a hand over his mouth.

"That's enough," he firmly said. "Angela, you shouldn't worry, even if your father doesn't return before dawn. Goliath knows how to take care of himself."

...There was despair in their embraces now that dawn was approaching. The thought of parting, even for a few hours or days, was unbearable. They were looking as though to lose each other from sight would mean to stop breathing, and her eyes filled with tears.

"Go," she urged him, "go, or you will not make it before dawn. Go now, my love, and don't tell anyone yet, but come back soon. Know I will be waiting for you every second I'm awake."

"I will be back soon," he promised, cupping her cheek, "as soon as I can."

It was as though in a haze that he got up from the low wide bed which was now a tangle of sheets, donned what remained of his garb, pushed open the glass doors that led to the terrace, kissed his love one final time, and took off. He kept looking back until he could no longer make out her silhouette.

Liz met him with her hands on her hips.

"You were supposed to be on duty tonight starting from eight o'clock," she said, her eyes narrowed with suspicion, "it's nearly dawn now. _Explain yourself."_

This was more audacious than she ever dared to talk to him, but Goliath merely grunted. His body was exhausted but his mind reeled. He longed to close his eyes and relive the earlier hours of the night. He could still feel his love's touch. Her kisses were still burning his lips; her scent was in his hair, on the palms of his hands, the sweet sensation of her skin all over her body. It brought an almost physical ache that she was no longer within his reach. He knew he would have to come back to her soon. He couldn't bear not to.

"You went to return Demona's ring, didn't you?" Elisa's voice continued to drill into his head.

"Yes," he said, "and later I had… business to attend. I apologize for not letting you know. But I won't be able to make it on duty tomorrow either."

Liz stared after him, her mouth opened mutely, as he walked away.

Mary climbed the stairs, huffing and puffing and telling herself she must get back in shape pronto.

She knocked on the door. She got no reply, but a distant sound somewhere in the depths of the apartment betrayed the presence of someone inside.

She cleared her throat tentatively.

"Demona?"

Hurried steps, and the sounds of someone hastily shuffling something.

"I know you are in there. Angela told me I can find you here. I just... dropped by to see how you are getting along."

"I'm fine!" sounded a voice with a trace of panic. "You'd better go away now!"

"Oh, come off it, I climbed up all those stairs, won't you even let me in for a moment?"

"I appreciate your concern, but you'd better come some other time."

Mary remained silent for a few moments, then decisively said:

"This is too fishy. I'm sure something isn't right, but perhaps it's not me you want to see. Perhaps I ought to stop by the castle and tell Angela she should visit you as soon as she can."

"No! I mean... that would be... quite unnecessary. Oh, alright then..."

Demona reluctantly opened the door to admit the human friend she never thought she would have. Mary walked in and her eyes grew round. She took in the overturned table, the crumpled carpet, the extinguished candles in a pool of congealed wax, the bedsheets strewn all over the floor. There was no mistaking it, the mess looked freshly made.

"What on earth," she asked in a hushed way, "have you been doing here?"

"Just moving some things from place to place," replied Demona in an unconvincing voice.

"You – you are taking me for a fool, aren't you? The place is in shambles!"

"I prefer the lived-in look."

Mary didn't buy this.

"Goliath was supposed to come and return your ring. Did he ever make it tonight?"

"He made it alright," replied the witch curtly, trying to compose herself.

"Hold on, you didn't have a fight, did you?"

Mary's eyes were narrowed in suspicion. Demona tried to keep her face blank, but a corner of her mouth unwillingly twitched, and that was answer enough. An irresistible grin began spreading over Mary's face, and it was only with a difficulty that she restrained a girlish squeal.

"Well," she said slyly, her voice shaking with suppressed glee, "it's obvious you two had _quite_ a time."

"Oh, be quiet," said Demona, but she couldn't help smiling back.

Mary's expression suddenly became serious.

"You know," she said, "I haven't known you very long. I don't know exactly what happened between you in the past, and I assume it would take me years to figure it all out. But if there is something I can say for sure, it is this: you two have been so stupid. So stubborn. You have wasted so much time."

Demona didn't answer. She looked away, steeling herself. She didn't think she could bear more tears tonight.

"He was crushed when you left," added Mary, "he did a very good job of hiding it, but it was obvious to anyone who cared to look."

"I didn't dare to hope," Demona quietly replied, "I became accustomed to the idea that I was going to lie low for a while, then leave for good and never see him again. Angela, maybe. Him, never. I thought I was going back to my half-life, my cursed life. Him coming tonight was... it was more than anything I could have hoped for."

"Is Goliath here, then?" asked Mary, looking expectantly around.

"No," said Demona, "he is gone."

"Gone?" Mary looked puzzled, "But..."

"He wanted me to come back to the castle with him."

"Well, then," Mary beamed again, and then her smile faltered as she saw the expression on her face, "what is the matter?"

"I couldn't do it. I... it is more than I deserve."

Mary's eyes were skeptical slits.

"Are you saying you were overcome by his benevolence and that's why you stayed behind?"

"Goliath is too kind. Too noble... too generous..."

"He loves you," Mary said briskly.

Demona leaned her elbows on the windowsill and buried her hands in her hair as though she was about to rip it off.

"What I did..." she said, struggling for breath with every word, "was... unforgivable."

"Yet he has forgiven, hasn't he?"

"Yes," she swallowed with difficulty, "but the others... the others never will. I cannot face it, cannot begin to talk when I have nothing within my power but the admission of my guilt. I... cannot forgive myself. How will I just step back into my old shoes, take back what I so foolishly squandered, accept what is so undeservedly bestowed upon me?"

"So you stayed here."

"Yes. I stayed here."

"For how long? Not for good, surely?"

"No... I... just until I can think it over, figure out how to..."

"See here," Mary cut her off, "if you thought of locking yourself up here as a sign of penitence... this is not what Goliath needs. However guilty you feel, it's you he wants. What you must do is pull yourself together, come back to the others, and say: yes, I know I have been wrong, and there is nothing I can do to change the past, but here I am, and I will never be the same. I'm sure you will get plenty of opportunity to prove yourself with time."

"...She told she would not have it back," he said to Angela, pressing the ring into her palm, "she told to give this to you. For you, she said, it will be harmless, simply a pretty jewel. You can keep it."

Angela looked at him just as suspiciously as Liz, though her reasons were a bit more definite. She was no human, and she could smell the unfamiliar, musky scent on her father. She didn't quite know it was seed and sweat and lust and love, but she felt as though she was intruding upon something private. She took the ring and silently left.

He knew he should have held on for a few more nights if he didn't want to arouse suspicion. Even one night on duty should have done it. But despite whatever reasoning he might still have left, the next night found him taking off and making the familiar route.

She was waiting for him on the terrace this time, and as soon as his eyes found hers and answered an uncertain question, she threw herself in his arms and he easily lifted her, allowing her to wrap her hips around him. He carried her inside, where scented beeswax candles were lit.

When he took her hands in his, he was startled to feel they were as icy cold as the current of wind that engulfed the building.

"How long have you been standing outside, my Angel?" he asked anxiously.

"I have been waiting for you since sunset," she replied, "even though I doubted you would come tonight."

"How could I not?" he replied.

Inside, he noticed, the mess they made last time in their frenzy of lovemaking was removed, although he could still see a rip in one of the curtains.

"Do you have the... modern convenience of a shower?" he asked in that low rumble of his voice which, coupled with the intensity of his gaze, sent tingles of anticipation all over her body.

"What I have is better," she smiled, "it is called a jacuzzi."

It was their encounter in the castle baths all over again, only this time, instead of thinly veiled attraction, there was undisguised lust. In the water, where pleasant warmth enhanced sweet new sensations in their bodies, he pulled her close to teasingly nibble at her neck and breathe in the fresh sweet fragrance of her skin. Her small, firm breasts filled his palms, and the staccato of cold rain outside brought out more fully the comfort of warm water, soft candlelight, and the presence of the only one whom he ever loved.

Now, when the ravenous hunger of lust from the night before was satisfied, it was easier to resist the temptation of rushing, and they made the most of it by making love long and soft and sweet and slow.

"This is madness," he said quietly, when they had no more strength for anything but to lie side by side, exhausted and floating in a shifty mist of satisfied desire. "We aren't supposed to be hiding. I've got no secrets to keep from the clan."

"What about secrets you kept from me?" she nudged him lightly in the chest, sounding amused. "Such as, for example, who taught you to do _that_ with your tongue?"

She sounded playful, but her eyes were serious and questioning.

"No one," he honestly said, "there had never been anyone but you. No one to take your place. I simply had plenty of time to think of all the things I want to do to you."

…If Angela had some scruples in trailing her father the following evening, they were soon obliterated in the burning desire to know. Like Hudson and Korian, she was not without suspicion, but suspecting was nothing to witnessing. And Goliath's increased absences from the common hall could, theoretically, turn out in nothing after all; her father was the brooding type, the one to seek secluded refuge and be alone when anything troublesome was on his mind. When he shared his thoughts with others, it meant half the problem was already solved.

Goliath moved quickly, but luckily for her, he was not exactly hard to miss. She, on the other hand, was light and fluid as a shadow in the night sky. And sure enough, she thought to herself with much satisfaction, they were heading in the direction of her mother's hideout.

From her vantage point on the roof of one nearby building, she saw it all. He mother's slim red-haired figure, poised in waiting on the balcony; her father rushing forward, enveloping her in his arms and wings and…

She could not hear their words from that distance, but there was no mistaking the kiss. It was such an obvious token of raw passion it made her hot in the face. It also made her want to roll her eyes in exasperation. What are those two playing at? Well, if he doesn't come out with it in a week, she will have to prompt him; she resolved, turning away with a smile.

As it happened, Goliath showed no sign of meaning to confess the secret of his nightly detours until Angela confronted him. She was as direct as could be, on one of the nights when he had to stay behind on duty.

"I saw you with my mother," she said quietly.

"What?" he spluttered.

"I followed you," Angela explained breathlessly, then hastened to add, "no, don't get me wrong, I didn't stay around to watch or anything. But you are having an affair, I know it."

"Don't be ridiculous!" he thundered, "we aren't having an affair, we are married!"

"Why like this, then?" Angela fixed him with a piercing stare, "Do you want her back? You can't leave her there alone anymore, father."

"What… what do you mean?" he asked.

He knew inwardly it was true. Every time they met, they made love passionately as if it was their last night, nay, last hour together. And every time afterward, she would lay in his arms and cry her heart out, and urge him to go and refuse to come with him.

"You must bring her," Angela said, "I have gone over to watch her on nights you remain here. She will never heal while you are apart."

"I have tried," he said slowly, "I have told her. But perhaps it was not enough. Come with me."

Demona's eyes widened as she saw two silhouettes approaching. She wasn't sure how much she is supposed to say, but her daughter's beaming face and the hand that squeezed hers hinted plainly enough that there was nothing to hide anymore.

"Angela found out," told her love, "it turns out she has been spying on us."

His daughter shot him a filthy look, then approached her mother and embraced her.

"I am so happy for you," she whispered. Demona had no words. The fiery-red hair rested on Angela's shoulder, and the young lass felt the weak trembling of suppressed sobs.

"You must come with us," said Angela, her eyes shining with unshed tears, "you know you must."

Demona stood there, looking from one to the other, and finally reached for their hands with both of hers, linking the three of them together.

"I know," she said, "what other choice do I have? I cannot live without you anymore."


	21. The bond

"Oh, good!" exclaimed the Elder, as he saw the Leader and his daughter on the tower's balcony, "you two are back."

He then became speechless as he saw the third figure stepping out of the shadows.

"You?.." he faltered.

Five minutes of succinct explanation from Goliath, with all the clan members, Liz, Matt and Mary present, were enough to render everyone momentarily speechless, while Demona bowed her head lower and lower, clutching his hand for support. The Second was the first to recover.

"You are bringing her _back_? You are actually..." his voice trailed off, and he was left mute with indignation for a second, then recovered: "Goliath, I'm your second in command, and I can't just let this slide. I think you lost your mind."

"Don't – you – dare," growled the Leader warningly.

"I will be a poor excuse for a brother if I won't dare! Goliath, you will be murdered in your sleep!"

"She has been here for weeks and weeks," Goliath's voice was even lower, more dangerous, "surely it was time enough for you to realize she now turns to stone at daybreak, just as we do?"

"I understood your wish to help her recover... it seemed like basic decency, after all... but this – Goliath, think of what she had _done!"_

For the first time, Demona lifted her head, and her eyes were hollows when she spoke in a broken voice:

"You can't have thought of it more than I have, Brooklyn. All the days since I was first brought here, I... you can't imagine what I have been through."

"What _you_ had been through?" he laughed derisively, "Don't expect me to shed tears of sorrow for all your hardships! It was all your fault to begin with!"

Humiliated, pained, desperate, she still stood her ground, and in a faint whisper she replied:

"I know."

"Oh, you _know_! That settles that, then. Since you admit you were wrong, we can now safely welcome you back with open arms! Well, luckily, you can't have the same sort of power over me as you unfortunately seem to have over Goliath. I am never buying your excuses again. Never!"

Demona swayed on the spot as though he had slapped her, then replied:

"Fair enough."

"It makes no difference," Goliath said menacingly, placing a hand on her shoulders, "nothing and no one will ever come between my Angel and myself again, and no one will remove her from the clan's home. Those who share Brooklyn's opinion on the matter, are advised to keep it to themselves."

The Second angrily turned on the spot and marched away without saying another word.

Now it was Elisa's chance to speak, and she seized it despite Goliath's explicit warning.

"As your partner through the NYPD," she began in a tone of deadly calm, "I must warn you that our work together might be forced to come to an end because of this. As your friend..."

Her words were punctuated by an audible sarcastic huff from Demona's direction.

"… As your friend," she continued, trying to sound calm, although her voice had begun to shake, "I pray to God that you know what you are doing, Goliath, because it sure as hell doesn't seem so!"

And without waiting for his reply, she followed in Brooklyn's footsteps and was gone.

Now the Elder was approaching them, and his expression was almost satisfied. His voice, when he spoke, was very soft:

"I cannot pretend I hadn't anticipated something like this, lad," his gaze passed from the Leader to his love, "lass."

It was clear she was fighting the urge to hang her head once more, and her breathing was fast and shallow, but she resisted.

"I know you two since hatchlings," continued Hudson, "and I have always been sad about what happened between you. I am... I am happier than I can say, but I hope you do understand, lass, that this really is your one last chance."

He held out his hand, and Demona squeezed it with both of hers.

"I know," she said breathlessly, "I know, and this is more than I -"

"Don't waste it, then," said the Elder abruptly, but with a wry smile.

"Well," said Goliath when they remained alone, lifting her chin, "this wasn't so bad, was it?"

"Better than anything I deserved," repeated Demona with a sigh, "Elisa's reaction was predictable. So was Brooklyn's," she added glumly.

"Oh, he will come around," Goliath said reassuringly, "don't forget, he has a certain happy event to anticipate."

Slowly, Demona began to smile.

"I almost forgot."

"Vidar will be back," Goliath said pointedly, "I am certain he will be pleased to see you, but I'm not so sure he will be happy to hear the explanation of your continued residence here."

"Oh, my love," she looked half-exasperated, half-flattered, "why do you even bring this up? Surely you couldn't think even for a fleeting moment I would really accept his proposals?"

"Back then, I looked at it... almost as certain. I suppose I have been..."

"Blind," Demona finished for him, wrapping her arms around his neck, "but then again, not nearly as much as I."

...If Vidar was disappointed when he came back, he took it very stoically, and congratulated his momentary rival in a manner befitting a friend and a brother. He embraced Goliath and expressed his joy in the approaching union of the two clans.

On the night of Brooklyn and Aslaug's bonding ceremony, Vidar, who was given the honorable task of conducting the celebration, got up, cleared his throat, and smiled down wistfully at the young couple.

"Tonight, we are celebrating the union of two faithful hearts, who are just beginning to walk down the path of learning what true love and loyalty mean to our kind. Not the fleeting, flippant connections humans call "being _in_ love", as though love is merely a state of one's soul. No... for most of those who represent our kind, once they find their love, it _becomes_ their soul. I speak from experience," he gave a small, sad smile, "I shall never forget what it used to be like, being with the mother of my two beautiful daughters, and she shall never cease being a part of me."

There was silence; everybody was listening with rapt attention.

"True love is like a diamond," continued Vidar, "it endures forever, untainted in its brilliance. But it is also so much more that I'm failing to grasp a proper comparison. I am speaking of love that cannot be worn out, tossed aside, given up on, exchanged, replaced, dented by the tides of life or the winds of time. And I thought it would be proper to point out," he went on, "that a perfect example of such love is here with us tonight," he gestured towards Goliath and Demona, who simultaneously opened their mouths to protest.

"If I gave them a chance to speak now," Vidar smoothly continued talking above their heads, "I'm sure they would begin to enumerate their many mistakes and weaknesses, point out their long estrangement and even enmity. But the fact remains that, after so many years, they are sitting here, their love as ardent as on the night when their bond was first forged."

They smiled almost shyly, their linked hands pressing tighter to each other.

"I don't envy the circumstances of your life," Vidar went on, "and certainly wouldn't wish them on my dear daughter and her beloved. But if there is one lesson I wish them to learn from you, it is the constancy of heart – despite everything, despite seeming hopelessness, despite the darkest hours that are possible to imagine. It is the lesson that love is one's soul, and giving it up means living but a half-life."

He now looked directly at Brooklyn, and despite anything the lad could have thought of the idea of learning lessons from Demona, he gave a curt nod.

Demona was weeping silently with mingled joy and grief. Angela was dabbing at her eyes too; in fact, there was no dry eye among the females, save Elisa, who was standing in the corner with her arms crossed, a frown upon her face, her mouth a thin, skeptical line.

There was an unexpected knock on the hall's door, which sounded very loudly in the silence only occasionally punctuated by a stifled sniff.

"Who on earth?.." began Hudson. Yet Goliath recklessly got up on his feet, approached the door in a few quick strides, and opened it.

A young man was standing in the doorway – a tall, black-haired, blue-eyed, broad-shouldered man heavily leaning on a walking stick. Goliath heard a sharp intake of breath from his wife behind his shoulder.

"You!" she gasped, rendered almost mute with fury.

"Me," replied Jason Canmore, quite calmly, "I got here as soon as I could be up on my feet again... though the limp will probably never be quite gone," he added, wincing slightly.

"And what the hell," said Demona, her eyes catlike slits, "are you doing here?"

"The same thing as you, I presume," said Canmore, looking her straight in the eye, "trying to bury the hatchet... or at least, to find out if it is possible," he now faced Goliath.

"Is this a trick?" frowned the Leader, scanning Canmore's figure.

"See for yourself," said Jason, "I am unarmed, and in no fit state for fighting. I regret all that has happened, all the pointless many-centuries vendetta. You have to understand that my siblings and I were raised with the conviction that your kind are monsters. But after meeting you, something within me was shaken, and after talking with Elisa while I was in the hospital's bed..."

"You mean, you went to visit him and didn't tell us?" Goliath whipped around and faced Elisa, who looked distinctly uncomfortable.

"I... that is to say, well, Jason had no one to visit him, and I..."

"Elisa opened my eyes. I believe now that you are creatures of honor," said Canmore, "that is why I came here alone, vulnerable. I am at your mercy. I trust you will not hurt me, even if you won't feel immediately able to accept my hand of friendship."

He extended his hand, but Goliath didn't take it. It was obvious he hesitated.

"Why should we believe you?"

"_I_ would sooner believe me than her," Canmore replied, casting Demona a quick glance. It was obvious he didn't miss her hand on Goliath's shoulder. "I am but the last link to this chain of miserable cruelty. _She_ was the one started it all."

"I will not take reproaches from _you_, Hunter," spat Demona.

"We can talk later," finally said Goliath, not taking his eyes off Canmore's face and carefully weighing every word, "I will, for now, ask you to stand aside, Canmore. In case you hadn't noticed, you are gatecrashing a bonding ceremony."

Canmore's eyes widened.

"I hadn't realized!.. That is really – I mean – carry on, I will just find a place right here in the corner, yes?"

He placed himself near Elisa, who gave him a quick look and averted her eyes. He, on the contrary, didn't take his eyes off her.

"You look wonderful," he whispered, "you know, in the time since I was released from hospital, I sometimes have felt sorry that I am now not convalescent enough for you to visit me."

"I have been busy lately," replied Elisa quietly, not looking at him, but at the young couple, "and I think I have already told you more than once, Jason..."

"I know," he promptly said, "my memory is as good as ever, Liz. And yet... you cannot deny that more wonderful things have happened," he said in a low voice, pointing with his eyes at Goliath and Demona.

Liz didn't reply. When the ceremony was over and the young ones have been wholeheartedly plunged into celebrating – eating, drinking sweet light mead, singing and dancing – Goliath, Demona, Hudson and Korian approached them once more.

"I want to believe you," Goliath said without preamble, fixing Canmore with a piercing stare, "I'm hopeful I will have base for believing you. But you have to admit, this is... quite an abrupt turn."

"Exactly," nodded his wife, "what tangible evidence are you willing to offer to prove this unexpected change of heart?"

"I haven't thought of that yet," answered Jason, smiling pleasantly and looking directly at her, "what about _you_?"

"Impertinent," hissed Demona, but Korian broke the tense moment by approaching Canmore first and holding out his outstretched hand.

"I do not yet have any proof of your sincerity, Canmore," he said cheerfully, "but one thing we have in common – I, too, would rather trust you than my sister."

Demona looked furious, Goliath calculating, Hudson amused, Elisa uncertain. Canmore, however, openly smiled back and firmly shook Korian's hand.

"To the end of ten centuries' pointless enmity!" he toasted, raising a goblet he procured from one of the tables, "And to a new era, in which anything will be possible!"

The others drank in silence, Demona through pursed lips. Promptly, Hudson cleared his throat.

"It seems to me we forgot an important tradition, lads and lasses," he said, "each of us is supposed to give our own blessing to the young couple."

As everybody swarmed around Brooklyn and Aslaug, Jason lingered behind a pillar with Elisa and stared at her with those dazzlingly blue eyes of his.

"So," he said, after draining the last of his wine, "assuming we will yet have time to get a couple of hours of sleep tonight, are you up to have breakfast with me tomorrow morning?"

"Breakfast?" Elisa looked slightly taken aback.

"Yes, well," he grinned, "got to pick a time when I'm dead sure you won't be hanging around with these guys," he gestured towards the clan.

"Alright, then," Liz replied, smiling, "I will go out for breakfast with you, Jason, because this is a meal least likely to be mistaken for a date."

"Mistaken by whom? By me?" Jason raised an eyebrow, "Or by him?" he lowered his voice and looked in the direction of Goliath.

"I... but..." Elisa spluttered.

"I'm not that stupid, you know, Liz. When you told me there is someone else, and that things are kind of complicated, did you really think I wouldn't be able to put two and two together?"

Liz bowed her head, sighed, then looked right up at him.

"I know it was madness," she said quietly, "I think I always knew, all along, that it could never be."

"I can understand, somewhat," said Jason, "he is... admirable. But to speak of something more..."

"I'd rather not speak of it at all, not here and now, anyway," Elisa replied tartly, "and not tomorrow either," she added when he opened his mouth to speak, "otherwise, our breakfast arrangement is off."

"Deal," nodded Jason, flashing a smile at her.


	22. The tallest tower

It was the third night since Brooklyn and Aslaug's wedding, and Demona was sitting in the library, supposedly deciphering a Middle-Age German text, but in reality reliving a particularly happy hour she had spent together with Goliath before he had to go on duty.

It was then the library door opened with a creak, and she found herself alone with Brooklyn – something she had been trying to avoid since her return.

"Surprised?" he asked, "not too keen to be near me, are you?"

"Not too keen to have accusations thrown at me again, you mean," she amended.

"Don't you act offended," he hissed, taking one step closer to her. She didn't move. "All I said about you was based on experience and good reason, and I don't mind repeating it. Goliath might be all honorable and trusting and ready to believe the best of you," he went on, "but if _I_ were leader, I would never put my clan in danger by having you here again."

"It will be a long, long time before you are ready to stand in stead of Goliath," remarked Demona.

"I sure hope so," snarled Brooklyn, "because my memory is as good as ever, but Goliath seems to experience a bout of forgetfulness when it comes to what you had done."

"You are, of course, within your right to mistrust me," said Demona, her voice quivering almost imperceptibly. He was not appeased.

"Sure as hell I am!" he exclaimed, "I don't know what your plan is this time, but I think I can be fairly sure what happens next. For a while, you'll be on your best behavior, and then, when it's convenient for you, you will put the cards on the table, and either try to get rid of Goliath for good along the way, or just leave him again, which will be almost as destructive for him. So I am giving you a plain and honest warning, Demona – there is someone in this clan who will never trust you again, and who will be keeping a close eye on your every move. Goliath might have turned blind and deaf to reason, - he added, - but luckily for him, _this time_ he has a Second who knows his duty."

"I am not questioning your worth as Second," said Demona.

"As if you'd have the nerve to try," he sneered.

She couldn't blame him. His suspicions were entirely justified, his accusations fair, though harsh. In his place, she would have thought, talked and acted just the same. For him her words were wind, she knew, but she still gave it a try.

"I helped Goliath when he lost his eyesight," she reminded him, "I fought for you all in battle not long ago."

"_We_ have always been loyal!" Brooklyn burst out, "_We_ have never been tempted by dark magic! But Goliath seems to think he is justified in trusting you as much as any of us, even though he was already deceived in you again, and again, and _again_!"

"I understand how you feel," said Demona, but this only seemed to enrage him further, "and I just wanted you to know that..."

"That what?" he snapped, "that you have changed? That it was all some sort of huge misunderstanding all the way? That it will never happen again? If so, here is my advice to you: save your breath and tread carefully around me, because unlike Goliath, _I_ can still use my _brain_ around you."

"Fair enough," she said, resigned.

"When you show your true face, Goliath will deeply regret all of this," said Brooklyn, his eyes narrowed maliciously, "but not as much as you will. I'll make sure of that."

"I'll keep this in mind," she nodded, knowing it's futile to continue this conversation.

"I just know one thing," Brooklyn uttered through gritted teeth, his face now so close to hers that she recoiled, "with you, things are never as they look, and I don't see why it should be any different this time. Goliath, Angela, even Hudson might think otherwise, but I will never believe you can reform. Not even if fifty evil clones knock the stuffing out of you a dozen times!" he concluded savagely.

Called upon the scene by his raised voice, his young wife lightly stepped in, with a curt nod and an uncomfortable look in Demona's direction.

"My love," she laid her hand on Brooklyn's arm, "what are you doing here? Come, we will eat now, and then you must set off."

"Yes, go," nodded Demona, "especially as you have already made your point perfectly clear."

… Even as Brooklyn soared upon the currents of the wind, pestering thoughts still continued to whirl in his mind, Demona's offended and resigned expression before his eyes. He had hurt her, and knew it, and relished it.

He didn't really believe in her reformation. He had declared it openly and repeatedly, to her face, to Goliath, to Hudson, to Angela, to Elisa, to anyone who would or wouldn't listen to her. Even if currently her intentions are good – and he was very, very far from vouching for that – she can no longer stop being an unrepentantly evil snake than she can stop breathing. Was he being mean? Perhaps, but there are some illusions which are better not be indulged. He had heard nothing to convince him that her obsessive burning hatred for the human race is finally going to be kept in check. She had already chosen hate over love, revenge over Goliath and them all once, and she was bound to do it again, he was certain.

He boasted of her not having the same influence over him as she has over Goliath, of being able to keep his presence of mind, his reason around her. Yet to no one, ever, would he reveal how very likely it could have been different, if the circumstances have worked out in another way.

He had felt deeply attracted to her even back in Wyvern, but of course he was too young back then, too inexperienced, yet too rational to ever oppose Goliath as a rival. And in the more recent past, when she had ensnared Goliath through using that spell from the Grimorum, it was something different than his logic and cool judgment that led him to cooperate with her, however briefly. There was something bewitching in her own self, far stronger than any magic she had ever wielded.

But he had gotten over it, he told himself fiercely. Over her, and over Angela, too, who after all held a charm over him only due to that striking resemblance he saw in her.

He's got the true measure of Demona, he kept warning them about her all along, he got over that stupid youthful infatuation. He rose to being Second in Command, he will be leader one day, and he has his own wife now.

All he has to do now is wait. One day, soon, she is bound to reveal her true self, and then he will feel a deep satisfaction arising from the fact that he was right all along. Of course, he won't say "I told you saw"; no, he will rise above such pettiness. Yet everybody will be aware of it all the same, aware that all along, there was one rational voice of wisdom, one member of the clan who was not so ready to be deceived by her once again. They will then look upon him with far more appreciation than they do now, when he is saying what they know deep in their heart to be true, yet refuse to acknowledge.

True, all that. And yet, a small and very annoying voice in the back of his mind kept reminding him how differently it could all have worked out, had she chosen him. Could he have resisted her then? Or would he, perhaps, made an even bigger fool of himself than Goliath seems to be intent on doing?

What could have been doesn't matter, he repeated to himself over and over again, attempting to shake these thoughts off. The only thing that is important now is that the clan is in more tangible danger than they think, and it is up to him – him and Elisa, perhaps, yes, he can always count on Elisa as his ally in this – to have everybody's eyes opened to the true nature of Demona, at the first opportune moment.

...When Goliath came back, he found her still sitting all on her own. Her face looked calm, though vacant, but her eyes were oddly bright.

"What is it, my love?" he asked, his brow furrowed.

"Nothing," she promptly said. He gently lifted up her chin and made her meet his eyes, which radiated steady warmth.

"Tell me," he insisted.

"The others will never trust me again," she said with a sigh, "not really."

He looked at her intently.

"Someone said something hurtful to you," he concluded, "tell me who, and I will go and speak -"

She pressed a finger to his lips, and he caught her hand and kissed it.

"I will not permit anyone to ruin this for us," he cut across her when he saw she was about to speak. She shook her head softly.

"No one can ruin this," she said, running a gentle hand across his cheek.

"But you have been crying, and I know it must have been..."

"My love," she said, "it's sweet of you to be so protective of me, but you can't force the others to believe me, when I have nothing but empty words to witness for me. Let's face it, your trust in me is boundlessly generous and entirely unfounded. I, as I had once been, would call you a weak fool for it."

He held both her hands between his own, and said:

"I saw your heart as I had never seen it before, and I believe in you wholly and completely. I know you are no longer what you had been. You are mine, and I am yours. Give it time, my love," he added softly, "time, my sweet Angel, will heal the wounds, will smooth things over. And with the way of life we have chosen, I trust there will be no lack of opportunity to prove that you have really changed."

She didn't answer. He felt an upsurge of irrational anger towards those who didn't realize how vulnerable she is now.

"Can I get you anything?" he asked, "A glass of water? Have you eaten? Are you hungry?"

"Not at all," she said, squeezing his hand gratefully, "let us take a detour, my love. It's so beautiful tonight. Let's go down to the gardens and smell the summer blossoms and feel springy grass under our feet."

"Good idea," agreed Goliath, "I wonder how come I didn't think of that before."

"That's probably because everybody always seems to need you here," she said half playfully, half exasperatedly, "so much that, although I know it is impossible, I sometimes wish there was someone else worthy to lead this clan. I wish I could have had more of you to myself."

"I am yours," he said simply, "I have pledged myself to you."

"And I pledge myself to you," she echoed, passionately returning his kiss.

"...I do not understand," frowned Angela, "aren't you happy for me?"

The giddily excited expression left over from her previous conversation with her beau was sliding rapidly off her face. The exact exchange of words between the two young lovers had no real importance, but the essence of it can be very easily summarized: her lucky admirer had pledged his undying love and devotion, and was rewarded by a most favorable acceptance of his advances, and Angela's promise to bestow her hand upon him.

"It's not that," her mother replied evasively. She was the first in whom Angela confided.

"Don't you like Broadway?"

"He is good and kind, and brave and loyal, and I think we all appreciate him very much," replied Demona, "and of course, there can be no doubt he is deeply in love with you," she added, "but... but I just wonder whether your feelings for him are quite... quite..." she hesitated.

"Quite what?" demanded Angela.

"Quite strong to decide to join yourself to him for a lifetime," finished her mother.

Angela looked annoyed.

"Why would you doubt that?"

"Have you ever trembled when he looked in your direction?" asked Demona, "Ever felt as though your heart will explode if you don't see him within the hour? Ever sensed the air crackle with electricity when you are together?"

Angela smiled understandingly now.

"There are different ways to experience love, you know," she said sagely, "just because I might not feel exactly what you had felt for my father when he courted you..."

"Your father and I..." Demona paused, searching for words which would not be inappropriate to tell one's daughter, yet precise enough to make her understand, "we grew up together, and one time it was simply a – a huge awakening. Like a revelation. It was as though – consider that you are used to everything within the range of normal, and suddenly you experience something above it. Perfection. Perfect wholeness. Being one – how shall I explain?"

"There is no need to," Angela's smile became wider, "I see you together, and it is obvious nothing has changed."

A shadow passed across Demona's face.

"Everything has changed," she countered, "but not the fact that without the other, each one of us is but a half. It is not through any merit on my part," she hastened to add, "it is simply how we had been made. Born together, made for each other, destined to be one."

"But," paused Angela, "not every couple needs to experience overwhelming passion to be happy together."

Now it was her mother's turn to smile understandingly.

"You sound so sensible."

"And you make this sound like a bad thing!" Angela retorted.

"I'm just not sure how realistic it is for such sobriety to exist in someone your age," Demona said placidly.

"You aren't going to try and convince my father to dissuade us from our betrothal, though?"

"Of course not! The leader would only ever meddle in these matters if there was grave reason. As your father, he might advice you, but... I can't help but feel concern, Angela, at the possibility that once you might realize – realize that there could have been someone else, someone who -"

"If you mean Gabriel," Angela said in a tone that hinted quite plainly of her wish to end this conversation, "you know our ways have parted."

"It is not always possible to know that for sure," Demona said softly, "even when it does look this way."

"I know what you mean," said Angela, "but I don't think I will repeat your story."

"I should well hope not," her mother repeated darkly.

"Then simply wish us happiness," Angela said, and bestowed a quick hug on her mother before bouncing off to share the thrilling news with the rest of her friends.

"...Is this the matter, my love? Are you so concerned for Angela?"

"No, I... " she swiped at a tear that strayed down her cheek, "whatever decision she eventually makes, I know she will be fine. Her good heart and her pure soul are her greatest treasures, and I know she will be led by them wherever she goes, guided by untarnished truth, which is something I wish I could have said about myself. Angela had been raised well, none of which is my merit."

"Neither it is mine," nodded Goliath, "but I am proud to know Angela and call her my daughter."

"I am not sure that you, my love," she said quietly, her eyes filling with tears, "with your greatness of heart, your ability for boundless love, compassion and forgiveness," her voice was reduced to a whisper, "I'm not sure that you can have the answers for someone like me. What shall I do?"

"Live," he said, lifting her chin with two fingers and making her look him straight in the eye, "live for me. For Angela. For the clan."

"I still don't know for sure whether life is possible after all the evil I had caused... all I had been," she paused, "all the grief, the madness... I am in awe of how our daughter still has her heart open for me, how some others still extend to me the hand of friendship. I sometimes feel that... that only death can atone for the wrongs I have made."

He got hold of her hand.

"Answer doubt with hope," he said, "answer fear with love."

"Fear," she repeated slowly, "that was what ruined me, can't you see? I was famed from my bravery in battle, but it is not difficult to disdain death when you no longer care for anyone in the world of living. Fear was what started all this repugnant cycle I pulled us all into. On that unfortunate night when I got a visit from the future... I was not yet corrupted enough to take advice from my older self and use the magical Phoenix Gate as a tool for mass destruction, but I was not brave enough, either – not enough to listen to you, my one true love who had never failed me, and do nothing. Doing nothing would have prevented the tragedy, but I... arrogant little wench, I thought I could outsmart everyone. Fate, past, future, the Archmage and a host of vikings... what a fool I was..."

"My love, don't," he said, feeling his heart would soon break, "this is enough. All this time of loneliness, suffering, all the regrets... surely it is enough."

"And later," she plowed on, looking straight at him, and he felt an upsurge of pride for her resolution, "at least half of all the foolish tragic consequences of what I had done were rooted precisely in this – in fear to stop and think, stop and reconsider... it was too scary to have to admit I had been wrong all along. It felt safer to harden my heart and continue walking along the same path. What shall I do?" she repeated, "How shall I atone for what cannot be undone? How shall I atone for death?"

This time, he had his reply at hand.

"Answer death with life," he said slowly, deliberately.

"Is it possible?" she asked, her eyes never leaving his.

"When we are together, anything is possible," he assured.

"Then it shall be tonight," she said quietly.

"Tonight?"

"Yes. I feel the magic of moonlight coursing through my blood, imbibing my veins, the very essence of my being... it is time for our child of love."

"Then come," he said tenderly, holding out his hand.

Together, they went out to the low terrace. The moonlit night was beautiful, the star-strewn sky, as if powdered by diamond dust, magnificent to behold. She made to take off together with him, but he lifted her up in his arms. With her arms around his neck and her body sweetly and strongly pressing to him, he soared towards the castle's tallest tower.


	23. Epilogue

Almost the entire clan was assembled, and all present were holding their breath in suspense, careful so as not to miss one moment of what was happening.

"Are you _sure_ you heard it rattling, Angela?" asked Broadway. "I think it's too early yet."

"Be quiet," snapped Goliath. "The process is sensitive in the extreme, it might even be disrupted by vibrations of the air!"

Angela and Broadway grinned and exchanged understanding looks, but fell silent all the same.

"I am certain it will hatch in its due time, my love," the red-haired female said. "We can watch for a while longer, and if we see it has halted, we can take a break and return later."

Goliath opened his mouth to say something, but before he had the chance to, a noise could be heard inside the egg. It moved slightly, but very perceptibly. Now there could be no doubt - the hatchling inside it was struggling to get out.

All of a sudden, a tiny crack appeared in the egg's shell. And another one. Then it stopped moving for a couple of minutes - the little creature was gathering its strength for the final blow. And then, the egg rattled. Cracks now ran all over its surface, until finally, it fell apart. The air was filled with collective whoops, gasps, cries of delight and exclamations of relief as the hatchling was finally revealed before the clan's eyes.

"I told ye!" Hudson cried triumphantly. "Didn't I tell ye it would be a male, Broadway?"

The hatchling was a tiny thing, wet and bedraggled, its wings no more than folds of flabby skin. Nothing about him suggested the extent of strength he would possess some years down the road. His skin was blue, and he had a patch of red hair on his head that would one day grow into a mane like his father's.

"You owe me ten bucks, Lex!" declared Broadway.

"I bet that the hatchling would come out with lavender skin and black hair," explained Lexington, noticing Angela's quizzical gaze.

"Brooklyn said he is certain it would be a female," added Broadway. Demona, meanwhile, wrapped her son in a warm blanket and held him tenderly in her arms. Almost at once, the little one began to nuzzle at her breasts, and she settled down to let one breast loose of her halter top so that the hatchling could nurse.

"Brooklyn," repeated Goliath, frowning. "Where_ is_ Brooklyn?"

"Patrol duty," supplied Hudson, but it was clear from the tone of his voice that there was more to it. The absence of both Brooklyn and his young wife at this moment was conspicuous. It was as though Brooklyn didn't wish to be involved in this particular celebration of new life within the clan, and didn't mind the others figuring it out. Even though quite a while passed since Demona returned to the clan, even though they fought shoulder to shoulder more than once, it was obvious he would never trust her again. He suspected her still. He didn't dare to raise the matter anymore, but this undercurrent of hostility created tension between the Leader and his Second.

Now, however, Goliath was too wrapped up in his happiness to spare Brooklyn much thought. He approached his beloved, who cradled their son in her arms, and tenderly stroked the back of the hatchling's head. Her smile radiated pure joy as she reached for his hand.

"My love," he said. He wished to say something else, but all words caught in his throat, rendering him temporarily mute. It didn't make any difference, though. He knew she understood, as did all around them. The world might still be perilous, full of enemies and yet-unknown dangers, but at this moment they were together, full of love for each other and their newborn son, and nothing else mattered.

**Thank you, thank you, thank you for your wonderful comments! For many years I lived as though I am the only Goliath&Demona fan in the world, and it's terrific to know there are more people like me out there. And no, I haven't read the comics and I never will. As many wonderful things as there were in the show, the love of Goliath and Demona was THE Number 1 attraction, for me, and as I know they did not get together in the comics, I'll just ignore those. **


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